


Dum Capit Dies Noctem

by lisura



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Academia, Arrogance, Cynicism, Dark Harry Potter, F/M, Head Boy Tom Riddle, Hogwarts Prefects, Mythology References, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28550160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisura/pseuds/lisura
Summary: We all know the diary soul fragment of the heir of Slytherin, but what if Tom Marvolo Riddle's path lead him elsewhere a year before his first Horcrux? If his circumstances could not have tempted him into Machiavellism, if he had found roots in friendship and the thing people call love? (Hogwarts, from 1943)
Relationships: Tom Riddle & Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Heaven and Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, 
> 
> so this is my first HP fanfic ever, but after years, I came across the Chamber of Secrets on Free TV again – and thus came to think about young Tom Riddle. And then I just had to start writing ;)
> 
> As the description already mentions, this is going to be What If … 
> 
> The title of the story is an inversion of the line 'Dum Capit Nox Diem' from the song In Noctem from Nicholas Hooper's (fantastic) Half-Blood Prince Score. Originally, literally, the night takes the day, but here, the day rather takes the night. (Foreshadowing, oh so subtly ...)
> 
> Trigger warning:  
> Partly dark and cynical thoughts of a young Mr Riddle.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> Characters, Hogwarts and anyway everything that looks familiar to you belongs to JKR.
> 
> I think nothing more to add now :) That being said, I guess we're ready to go to Hogwarts in 1942. Let's see where the journey takes us ...
> 
> If the whole thing entertains you a bit and if you want to leave me your impressions, I would be very happy about that. But also every favorite means the world to me, so thank you for any vital signs ;)
> 
> xx  
> Dalia

"Mr Riddle, are you only physically present or also with us mentally?"

I groan inwardly. And yet I force myself to smile mirthlessly as I look up. "Both, Professor."

Unsatisfied, he eyes me. "Are you sure? Have you been listening to me at all?"

"I have, Professor. You were just about to enlighten us on the complexities of occult motives during the French Revolution - at which point you digressed and told us about your youth in Paris, even though it may not have taken place there until about 120 years later ..."

Wolburry snorts contemptuously and looks around the classroom almost caught off guard, but of course everyone has long since been enjoying themselves, and so has Elliott next to me.

Actually, I have nothing against Wolburry. He is a good teacher, definitely highly intelligent. And yet I could not help myself ...

"Excuse me, please continue, Professor," I say much more politely. "It was not my intention to criticize you. On the contrary - through your personal experiences, you bring history to life for us. It makes it more memorable."

For a moment we look directly at each other, but Wolburry just cannot read me.  
It is not his fault. Very few people can, ever could.

I suppose the only exception to this rule is Dumbledore. Though I am not sure whether that is very much in his favor. Anyone who can recognize darkness must have encountered it themselves.

"Well," Wolburry finally sighs, "let's just continue with Chapter 14 then. Go on, open your books."

Rustling of paper becomes loud, and as bizarre as it may sound, it relaxes me. For a brief moment, silence returns to my noisy head. Then, however, the class reads aloud - one change of narrator per paragraph - and I am forced to wonder how some of my fellow students were able to get recruited to a school like Hogwarts when they apparently, to this day, find themselves unable to manage the alphabet.

How are they supposed to master Latin spells when their own mother tongue is already challenging?

In any case, I myself have had plenty of time to read in my life. Exchanging spoken words is one thing, but what is immortalized in black on white seems to have real meaning and duration.

Who knows ... Maybe one of these days my name will be in all the books. But maybe not.

However I am relatively sure that Partridge will not make it into any lines. The pronunciation of the word 'guillotine' is giving him audible headaches, and that forces Professor Wolburry, after some patient consideration, to intervene.

"Mr Partridge, do you know what a guillotine is?"

I close my eyes for a moment, at least a faint attempt to not roll them so obviously.

What is the point of asking? Of course he does not know. So why waste all our time inquiring about his meager level of knowledge when a simple explanation could do?

Partridge shrugs apologetically and admits - oh surprise - "No, Sir."

"Do any of you know what this is about?" Wolburry looks around the high-ceilinged room of the History Tower promptly, however he finds either disinterested or completely perplexed faces.

Until he watches me attentively. As a person in need of harmony, he would probably have preferred to avoid me for the rest of the hour, but it must be clear to him that I know the answer ...

"Mr Riddle?"

I breathe in and out quietly, then I nod.

"A guillotine," I begin, "plainly explained, is a blade used to execute death penalties by beheading. The supposedly revolutionary Muggle equivalent of the deadliest of our three Unforgivable Curses."

All at once, silence falls, I even hear Elliott gulp.

Oh, sure ... The Unforgivable Curses are not ever to be mentioned, a taboo through and through, even if all the children of well-established wizarding dynasties should secretly know exactly what I am referring to.

One might hear the proverbial pin drop and Wolburry is briefly at a loss for words.

Even my own looks around should probably worry me, given that everyone present seems to forget to breathe while staring eerily devoted at me ...

For a blink of an eye, however, my gaze lingers on Harper.  
Her black and blue tie is much too loose, as usual, but she is not staring at me at all. Quite the opposite. She just shakes her head, barely perceptibly, and I alone can guess it is a vague smile she displays on her lips.

"Tom," Wolburry finally takes heart again, with newly regained composure. As if after a big bang, he clears his throat and says, "That's ... absolutely correct. The guillotine was used for beheadings. And yes - in the world of magic, that would equate to one of the three curses, however, I strongly suspect that in Defence Against the Dark Arts, you have by no means spoken about the Unforgivables ..."

He eyes me with a mixture of concern and skepticism, again looking for answers in my facial expressions, but once again he will not find any.

"Professors Dippet and Slughorn," I say, watching Wolburry relax a little at the mere mention of their names, "had discussed them the other day, in a conversation I overheard as Prefect."

As though titles necessarily entail doing the right thing …

Especially since, of everyone in the entire room, Harper knows best that I just blatantly lied. Yet she would never tell the tale. It was far too much fun in the Restricted Section of the library the other night ...

Wolburry nods slowly. "Well then. Perhaps you should not mention this kind of magic again for the time being, Tom, until it's officially taught. I'd be very grateful for that."

Enough controversy for today. "Of course, Sir ..."

As if these matters were state secret. Well, and if there are – now even the most ignorant student will have some interest sparked if there is just the least bit of intellectual hope for them.

Partridge then finally continues to read aloud, after the Professor's kind plea, and his reading remains just as bumpy as ever. The other students pretend to listen, scribbling on their parchments - including Elliott, he indeed has some form creativity to him - while old Wolburry, as he so often does, takes to strolling in circles in the classroom, listening to the history of mankind as he peeks thoughtfully up at the sky.

I, however, do not look up.

There is something in me, deeply hidden in my most secret desires, that puzzles me. Nomen est Omen, my name is surely not Riddle for nothing ... In any case, the other children in the orphanage often spoke of heaven. About their parents being there. But I never get much closer to this inexplicable longing for heaven - because the sheer emptiness at the thought of my parents awakens strange emotions in me that I do not want to feel. I also try to bury them as much as I can, for what is the use to dwell on them.

Fate did not want me to know family. Neither a mother, nor a father. My identity is rooted in myself alone.

If you grows up without any heroes, role models, confidants, you either fail to strive for anything at all, or you do for absolutely everything possible – and this all alone.  
You either perish or you never need intimacy again. You learn to stay quiet. Not to share your thoughts; neither the bitter ones, nor the bad ones, not what is disreputable, not what is to be virtuous. You seek for your very own answers to all questions. Your own solutions, your own maxims.

And you understand one thing. That in this way – if you always act on your own – you keep the aces up your sleeve at all times. Stale loneliness is compensated quite well by the fact that you becomes more independent than most will ever be.

Unless - and until - you get distracted from it.

"Here," Elliott whispers as he hands me a tiny heaven-and-hell finger game. He winks conspiratorially, which can only mean one thing.

Intuitively, I turn my gaze to Harper.

This is what she has been waiting for. She first signifies the number five to me with her left hand, then she points upward.

Amused, I take her heaven and hell to myself so that Wolburry does not notice, then I count up and down to five. I then unfold the finger game and read her message in the upper left.

_Hogsmeade, 7:00 pm_

The curved handwriting is just like her. And just like her tie. Not quite accurate, but all the more charming.

For a Ravenclaw, she also has surprisingly little fear of contact with Slytherin - and with me.

I read her message again and bite my lips to stifle a smile, but then a thought crosses my mind.

What if I had started the folding and unfolding the other way around? Maybe I opened the wrong message.

I begin again, do everything the same, only I start differently.

And now that I read the message, I really cannot help but grin.

Once again it says:  
_Hogsmeade, 7:00 pm_

"Two roads lead to Rome?" Elliott whispers.

"So it seems," I reply. Then, without further ado, I unfold the whole game. "No," I correct myself yet again, "all roads lead to Rome."

It would not have mattered at all in which order or counting I would have went on - we would always have arranged to meet at Hogsmeade at 7:00 pm.

"Why did she bother?"

I give a half shrug. "I gather she found Wolburry's descriptions of Paris boring as well ..."

Elliott nods mischievously as I let the bit of parchment vanish into my robe.

Meanwhile, McBurney has begun reading from the history book, and while Wolburry has returned to the blackboard to gaze out the window, lost in thought, I turn around to Harper.

She raises her eyebrows in question - and I just nod.

Hogsmeade, then, tonight at 7:00 pm.

Rarely have I had better prospects ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find my cover and other inspiration regarding this story here: https://www.pinterest.de/lasdalias/dum-capit-dies-noctem/


	2. Smoke and Sugar

Even from a distance, her look tells me that she is only moderately enthusiastic about Elliott's company, though she does not want to let it show. That is Harper. Too polite to always get what she wants, but mischievous enough to obviously smile in resignation.

I for my part, however, smile at the fact that we are entirely square. She let Leonora join us …

Both of them seize the opportunity, beyond the walls of Hogwarts, to wear trousers under their long coats – Marlene Dietrich in honor. As far as I am concerned, the school might well reconsider the required dress code when it looks so forbidden good.

"What are a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw doing out in Hogsmeade this late?" Elliott quips when we're within the ladies' earshot.

I add, "With two Slytherins at that."

Leonora sighs, "It's like the beginning of a bad joke, isn't it?"

"Slightly," I admit. "Though the occasion seems to be a quite serious one." I turn to Harper. "Results from heaven and hell must not be resisted."

She links her arm into mine. "That's absolutely right. We don't want to break the rules, after all …"

"Do we not?"

She wants to hold my serious gaze, but a ready smile crosses her lips. "Not for something so trivial, no."

It is written all over her. There is something she is going to tell me – or more likely, scold me for. But she knows as well as I do that we need to be alone in this regard. So she just shrugs, pulls me along and asks almost casually, "Don't you realize what we really want right now?"

I could imagine many things – but is silence not golden?

"Tell me," I prefer to demand, even if I am a little distracted. A few strands of her hair have come loose from her updo, and there is something roughly magical about the way they dance around her face in the cool November wind.

"Butterbeer!"

"Yeah, with that we can't go wrong," also Leonora giggles. "I've been looking forward to it all day …"

I shake my head in silence, and it does not escape Harper's notice.

"Wait a minute …" She gives me an incredulous glance. "Seriously?"

"What?", I ask.

"Did you really just snort to imply you don't like Butterbeer?"

In mock impression I praise, "Nothing gets past you …"

"Oh, come on, Riddle," she immediately whines, "this can't be true!"

"Why would anyone voluntarily drink diabetes in liquid form?"

"Because it's fun." She looks up at me and nods, as if to emphasize her words.

Whenever her enthusiasm is this infectious, I cannot help but smile. It is like a reflex, a stupid, neurochemical impulse – and I have been all too happy to give in to it for almost two years now.  
I do not like to admit to myself that this is exactly what has been missing in my life up to now. But on the other hand, only a fool would close his mind to this bittersweet realization.

Nevertheless, or perhaps even because of it, I willingly continue to argue with her. "Butterbeer just tastes sweet and greasy."

"Well, that's the whole point. Tom, butter and sugar – that's a perfect combination!"

"Like flames and smoke, for eternal balance," I retort. "Mind you, you get burned by the one, and you suffocate thanks to the other."

Elliott chuckles. "I frequently wonder - where do these macabre comparisons come from?"

"Ell, as we all know, I'm an orphan," I say matter–of–factly. "I've been exposed to the macabre from birth."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he says eagerly, patting me on the back with his free hand. (He has long since slid the arm of his right around Leonora.) "But ever since you and I've met, you've been much more fun, too."

"Keep telling yourself that. As they say, humor is about laughing anyway."

He winks. "See, all these things you've learned from me?"

"Thanks, Ell, I will never forget it."

"He can be so painfully sarcastic …" he says and acts as though he was rather vulnerable, particularly complaining to Leonora before he beams at me.

Elliott, since day one, combines two fascinating qualities in himself – the existence of which in one and the same person I thought highly improbable for a long time. For one thing, he takes me as I am, and for another, he does not take me too seriously.

He has gotten to know me surprisingly well in the few years we have spent practically like an old married couple. And I know him – everything about him.

That is another reason why I know how hopelessly infatuated he is with Leonora. Of course, his advances are always rebuffed in the presence of Harper and others like me, but every now and then, discreet tenderness leads to the cards being reshuffled.

And so I slow down Harper's and my own steps to allow the two in front of us some privacy through distance, while Hogsmeade already reveals itself in its homely modesty in front of us.

And of course, there is still a lecture to be held …

Still interlinked with my arm, she now gently pats the back of my hand so that I look directly at her.

"What are you up to?" she nevertheless deflects briefly, nodding in Leonora and Elliott's direction. "With those two …"

"Nothing at all?", I claim saintly.

"Come, come …"

The corners of my mouth curving up betray me, so of what use would a lie be? "I'm rather sure Ell and Leo like to chat in private for a minute."

"As do we?"

That is the change of subject we have both been waiting for.

She raises a brow, sternly gazes up to me – and she has no idea just how hypnotizing that is for me.

"You and I, we are chatting all the time," I counter soberly nevertheless. "Like the other night, in the Restricted Section of the library …"

"Well, that was pretty risky," she adds.

Likely she believes, under the cover of darkness, I might miss her flushed cheeks, however the night is already lit up by yellow windows of small stone houses, close together. And sometimes a single ray of light is just enough …

It is caustically kitschy. And yet something inside of me longs for yellow fireplaces and butter and sugar, and for her …

"That circumstance made it even more interesting to me," I finally say. "Must be the lure of the forbidden …"

"Why did you bring it up in class today?" she asks gravely. "Our research about the Unforgiveables was supposed to be our secret."

"Is that the only reason you wanted to see me?", I ask her, playfully offended. "Because earlier it seemed to be all about Butterbeer …"

She stops abruptly and puts her hands on her hips. "Tom Marvolo Riddle – don't obscure the issue at hand! You broke your promise!"

"I did not," I calmly defend myself. "Not one syllable about the Restricted Section has passed my lips."

"But Professor Wolburry – what if he questions Dippet and Slughorn about a conversation they never had?"

"He hardly will." I am wholly unconcerned, but her worried gaze makes me affirm, "He's a harmony–loving soul, a blind man sees that. He won't want to burden himself with such issues, do yourself a favor and just believe me."

She draws in a deep breath, then she finally nods and moves on with me again. We can hear Elliott and Leonora laughing as they follow the quaint alley, but apart from us four, no one else is walking the clammy streets. All visitors of Hogsmeade have already chosen a warm pub or store.

"You know what I cannot understand, though?" Harper avoids my face and, instead, lets her eyes wander over Hogsmeade.

"Tell me what you cannot understand," I prompt her.

"Why," she begins slowly, "do _you_ want to burden yourself with this?"

Her question makes me look up at the night sky for a moment. As though at least the stars have answers that might hold some truth for me.

"Knowledge," I finally explain under my breath, "is power. And power can never hurt, can it?"

"Depending on how it's put to use, it very well can," she replies stoically. "Or will you now try to persuade me that a Cruciatus can be instrumentalized for good?"

Now, for my part, I pause and stop. I just look at her for a moment, simply to understand what is going on inside her.

I have long noticed that my inhibition threshold is much below that of others, and I can tell that people are wondering about it. That they want to hide their dismay about it in vain. But I cannot understand their reservations.

For was it not of advantage in the orphanage that I would always be able to defend myself without even having to get close to anyone?

When I read it in that ancient, yellowing book, it was immediately clear to me what must have happened then. That even as a child I had crossed boundaries that some others will never cross for the rest of their entire lives.

But I cannot possibly tell Harper that …

"Should not the pursuit of knowledge of all kinds always be our endeavor?"

"Yes, but let's try not to take it too lightly. We're speaking of the Dark Arts, after all."

She forces herself to smile warily, and I do not know how to describe it, but in contrast to reproachful skepticism, I mostly see charmingly indignant concern for me in her eyes.  
But that should not be on her face either.

"Are you coming?" Elliott calls for us from the entrance of the Three Broomsticks. Both him and Leonora look at us expectantly from a distance, and I just nod so the two of them go ahead without us.

"Harper," I then proceed to say, squeezing her cold little hands in mine, "I apologize for mentioning it to the Professor. It was unwise of me, you're right, however …" I am about to lie to to her face, simply to reassure her. But I am a firm believer in the principle of ends justifying the means. "I'm well aware about the implications the Dark Arts might cause. So I guess I was simply concerned with it as well, and you know how I wear my heart on my sleeve …"

As suspected, this immediately makes her laugh in disbelief. "You're closed like an oyster!" she protests, softly elbowing me. "If I hadn't overheard your name during the sorting ceremony back then, you probably would've kept me guessing for months!"

"That would likely have been quite entertaining indeed, yes." I smile wryly. "In spite of everything, will you be visiting the less frequented areas of the library with me again?"

She laughs, nodding. "Because it's you, Tom."

"Terrific. And shall we get you liquified diabetes now?"

"And what will you be drinking?"

I sigh wearily. "I guess it will be butter and sugar for me, too – as euphoric as it makes you, I may have to try it again."

She grins. "Also terrific. Then let's get out of this cold …"


	3. Snakes and Lions

No embrace feels more grotesque than that of a warm fireplace – and it makes dead tired. Death might be forever in my bones, but right now no Memento mori, as loud as it may be, could cloud the realization that certain moments are worth living for.

"What are you staring at?"

A perfectly valid question that makes me tilt my head in amusement.

Elliott and Leonora have been cackling and waiting at the dark wooden counter at the other end of the tavern for a few minutes now, and Harper and I have merely placed our orders with them.

So for a moment with just the two of us, I guess I surrendered to the illusion that the orange light in which the crowded, noisy pub is bathed in, would let me look right through her dark eyes into her soul.

"You've changed something about yourself earlier, but help me out …"

She winks and ruffles her loose hair in demonstration. "Does that ring a bell? The updo the wind left me with was no longer presentable."

"Well, you ought to know best," I tease her, causing her to grimace in response.

"Tell me …" She is already leaning a little closer to me, and one thing is for sure. This uncomfortable corner seat I endure for her alone. "What are we researching next?"

I know exactly what she is referring to. I know she has the Restricted Section of the library in mind, and I might as well inform her of my plan yet, but I much prefer to see another impatient look on her face.

"Well, next," I ponder aloud, "we could discuss the extent to which a hair change would suit me."

"Very funny, Tom." She rolls her eyes laughing as Leonora and Elliott finally fight their way back through the crowd to our table.

"As I said," Elliott picks up on Harper's remark right away, "he definitely benefits from my sense of humor."

"Whatever you say," I retort. "But for this …" I point to the four Butterbeers the two of them bring along, "I indeed have to thank you."

Elliott just gives a friendly dismissive wave of his hand, then he sits down with Leonora right across from us and chuckles. "We know what happens when an impatient snake like you has to stand in line and wait."

Snakes, lines … What peculiar words. One stands for cunning, the other either for blood or else gatherings of people with a common goal.

I nod innocuously. "Patience is a virtue – but certainly not one of mine …"

Leonora giggles and proceeds straight to telling us about how impatient she too can be at times, but my mind is already wandering into darkness.

Elliott knows many things about me. However, he does not know that I can converse with snakes. No one knows that, except for Professor Dumbledore, whom I told this piece of information naively when we first met.  
The surprise on his face, his whole reaction at these words, however proved to me that it must be a precocity. There is, of course, nothing to exculpate. But I probably ought to keep quiet about it, just to play it safe.

So far, I have always had to regret revealing too much about myself. When confronted with my past – or the way I have dealt with it – people reacted with troubled suspicion, or worse, with misplaced sympathy, even pity.

Neither of which I have ever seen on Elliott's face. Nor on Harper's – that is what I appreciate about them. And I wish to keep it that way.

"Sometimes you really seem out of it," her voice now reaches me gently through the fog of my mind.

I lean back a bit and raise my brows. In fact, I do not have the slightest idea what their conversation was about.

"We want to toast!" Leonora initiates me and raises her Butterbeer.

My eyes surely holde a glint of mockery as I smirk. "Excuse me, but … what exactly could there be to celebrate?"

"Well, life!" she informs me, as their three drinks are already clinking.

With fatalistic equanimity, I comply. "Well then – to life."

After the first sip already, everybody looks at me attentively.

"So? Still just butter and sugar?"

I take a deep breath and nod, but why be coy about it …

"Frankly it's a little bit better than I remembered."

"Triumph!" Harper exclaims, winking at Elliott. "I knew we could get him excited about this today!"

"A Schelm, who thinks evil," I reply dryly. "You seem to have planned experiments with me …"

"Purely for the sake of science." Harper nods gravely, imitating the voice of a journalist. "Can a Butterbeer bring a grim smile to Tom Riddle's face? Initial results show yes!"

"And now what?" I ask. "Is your study complete?"

"For now," she confirms, grinning. "The next toast can be for Leonora and me."

"How come?" Elliott asks curiously.

"It's our anniversary today," Leonora explains. "So to speak … It was four years ago today when we became friends."

"That's right," Harper confirms, "and we've been just that ever since, even though we're in different Houses."

"Adorable," Elliott agrees. "Can you illustrate that for us, do you regularly arrange to meet for breakfast in the Great Hall?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, we do," Harper says, laughing to herself as I am shaking my head in disbelief. "What's so funny about that?"

"Like Ell said," I reassure her, "really adorable."

"And what are you two, then?" Leonora asks. "The two of you are double trouble as well, aren't you?"

"We are," Elliott promises. "Almost turned out differently, though."

The ladies look at us promptly, so he keeps talking, obviously wanting to make this banal story really exciting once again.

"If it wasn't for Tom, I probably would've been expelled in year one," he says somberly, almost whispering, "and after the first week at that."

I stifle a laugh so as not to ruin his punch line, but it is hard as hell as it becomes laughable each time.

"What happened?" Leonora asks as though she is about to uncover a terrible secret.

Elliott clears his throat. "The night was dark," he begins, "not even the moonlight could reach the bottom of the Great Lake. You know – there are windows set into the dungeon walls through which we can peer into the shallows of the Grindylows' world."

"And there you go, revealing where our common room is," I note with a tired smile.

"We won't tell anyone," Leonora is quick to say. "But have you ever seen the giant squid?"

Elliott nods, acting as unimpressed as he can. "Now and then, oh sure, yes …"

"Carry on," I try to speed up the history lesson.

Elliott nods cheerfully. "Anyway, ladies, the events of that dark night occurred barely a week after the sorting ceremony. Mr Riddle and I had never exchanged a word until then. Well, in fact, he hadn't exchanged a word with anyone …" He pauses and shrugs, looking at me. "He just doesn't like to spill the beans, I guess. However, he turned out to be a very observant night owl."

Harper gives me a cheeky look at these words – because even she knows that by now …

"What happened, then?" Leonora urges.

"Well, everyone in Slytherin was blissfully dreaming. You have to imagine the dormitory as completely quiet – no audible breathing, absolutely not a sound. But I – I couldn't fall asleep, and I heard a very strange squeaking …"

Harper and Leonora hang on his lips. He can tell stories like no other … But I know the outcome, of course, so I just sit back with a grin. He is leading them on a completely wrong track – as if we had already buried a body together when we had just arrived at Hogwarts.

"Of course I had to look into it, and I certainly had my suspicions …" He nods and takes a deep breath. "What kind of pets did you guys bring?"

"Oh, you scoundrel!" Leonora exclaims. "To change the subject just like that!"

"No, no," he affirms with a wink, "trust me, it has to do with that dark night …"

I bury my face in my hands, trying not to laugh just yet …

"All right," Harper quickly says. "We both have owls. Now go on with your story!"

"All right, all right, you know what Tom brought?"

They both shake their heads.

"Nothing at all," he enlightens them. "Tom didn't have a pet at all, of course." He grins at me. "Poor Tom …"

"You were able to provide plenty of remedy to that," I retort.

"Indeed, I was." He grimaces and sighs and turns back to the ladies. "You know, I had two white mice with me."

"Are they even allowed?" Leonora asks skeptically.

"The caretaker was busy, he just waved me through …"

"All right, so what?" Harper asks. "What do two mice have to do with dark nights?"

"Well, this is where the squeaking comes in again," he reveals. "In Diagon Alley, I was told that my mice are two females. But it turned out that wasn't quite right. They started a big family …"

The girls burst into laughter as Elliott grins and takes a sip of his Butterbier.

"Yeah, it wasn't exactly what I had in mind," he then proceeds to admit. "But there I was – with 15 animals instead of two. The caretaker would have murdered me, but simply ignoring the problem was out of the question as well – it would soon have resulted in an even more exponential increase in family size …"

"So what did you do?" Leonora asked, slightly worried. "Please tell me you didn't –"

"No, no, I'm a Slytherin, but I'm not heartless," he immediately interrupts her with a wink. "I snuck into the common room, with my mice – only to find that Tom was there, too. He was obviously just as unable to sleep, and he kept the fireplace flickering on and off with eerie glances. Until, that is, he and I came up with a solution for the pet family. We sold them in the whole castle, little by little, for a few galleons. In secret, of course … If Tom hadn't helped me – I would have lost my nerve."

"So that's how you met?" Harper grins at me in disbelief. "Is that really true?"

I nod. "He was hopelessly overwhelmed and kind of funny. I had to help him."

And basically, Elliott was the only one I ever helped. But do they not say that you should try everything once in a lifetime anyway?

The guests, too, seem to be guided by this maxim, as merry as it is in here. Only one person's mood is spoiled by the sight of our table.

"Leonora!"

I am already watching him, but the others also look around to see Raymond, Leonora's brother, running toward us with a bleary-eyed expression. She barely has a chance to greet him – he loses now time to speak his mind, and loud so.

"What the hell are you doing here? And how do you look? Aren't you wearing a skirt?"

She shakes her head in disbelief. "Calm down, Ray, it's not like I'm naked! And I have every right to be here with my friends."

"Oh no!" he protests. "Leo, you certainly don't have any business being around Hogsmeade this late at night, it's not appropriate at all!" For a moment he eyes Elliott, then clear disgust crosses his face. "And certainly not with Slytherin scum, they're surely not your friends. We're leaving, right now!"

She sits on the outside, which makes it quite easy for him to simply drag her along.

"Ray, wait a minute!" Harper shouts, immediately going after the two. "You're overreacting, leave her alone!"

Elliott and I also begin to follow the girls, as Raymond truly is not that gentle on his way out.

"Don't be so rough on her!" Harper demands.

"Yeah, let her go!" Elliott, too, rushes after them to stop Ray. "And what's so wrong with Slytherin, hm? Does a hero like you think you're better than us just because you wear red?"

Raymond stops abruptly to waggle a finger at him. "Leave my sister alone, consider this a warning!"

"Ray," Harper tries to reason with him again, "listen, you're drunk – you'll think differently about it once you've got some sleep. Just leave Leo with me and –"

"With you?" he frowns. "You've introduced her to those two snakes in the first place!"

Elliott dryly remarks, "We do have names, actually."

"I don't need to know them, though," Raymond retorts, then turns to Harper again. "Do what you want, keep such company. After all, you're already dressing yourself in trousers, just like a strumpet, but Leo –"

"Don't talk to her like that," I say and let my voice cut across his.

I wanted to stay out of it entirely, but here we go …

"Like you even care!" he snorts angrily.

I lower my gaze to him, emotionless, calm. "I do. Trust me."

People sometimes seem to be paralyzed when they look at me. And indeed he swallows. Even though he tries his best not to let it show in any way, he is not entirely comfortable. Because he cannot possible read my intentions. Lions may hold strength, but snake venom will always be more elegant.

"Come on, Leo," he finally urges his sister, tugging her along. "We're done here."

Leonora turns her face to us as they begin moving, still dejected and forming silent apologies with her lips, yet she is not the one to blame. Elliott waves at her with a pained smile before the pub door's bell rings for her not so voluntary farewell.

Then he blows out his cheeks and shrugs. "Not quite according to plan …"

"No, not really," I agree.

"I'm going home as well," he sighs. "Will you be good without me?"

"Barely." I smile wearily. "But do go ahead."

We say goodbye to him, then Harper and I decide to not go home – soon we find ourselves right at the bar counter. We order again, and she obviously wants to talk about anything but the topic at hand. Until at last she sighs and looks anxiously at the wooden counter.

"That was horrible," she mumbles. "Ray was so rude to you, I really didn't know him that way."

"He was just as rude to you as well, Harper."

"Yes, he was … And thanks for defending me. But I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that."

She takes a deep breath, then she toys with her hair, lost in thought. I could watch her do that forever.

"Tom, be honest," she then abruptly says, "what is it with you men dreading women in pants?"

"Us men?" I grin. "No, no, I wash my hands of it. It obviously was a nightmare for your Raymond – but as far as I am concerned …" I smile wryly. "Rather the opposite. You look marvelous in them."

"Well then," she sighs, slightly flushing. "He's not my Raymond … By the way …"

I nod, seemingly indifferent. "Good."

"Yeah, good," she repeats, rolling her eyes with a smile before stifling a yawn. Looking at her I cannot help it either, but she soon proceeds to asks, "Will you walk me home? We should get back, shouldn't we?"

I stand up and reach my arm out to her. "We should, yes. And since we were interrupted in our planning earlier – I'd be more than happy if you and I took a nightly stroll to the library again."

"It's been a while since we've done something forbidden," she says.

We both smile at each other, about to be in the midst of conspiracy again. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

"No, never heard of it," she confesses, "but maybe I'll learn something about it tomorrow night?"

"Yes. Tomorrow night is perfect."

"Very nice," she giggles, "I'm looking forward to it …"


	4. Souls and Fragments

"Alohomora!"

"One can easily tell you're in the choir."

She eyes at suspiciously. "What do you mean? I was merely whispering."

"I hear it anyway," I boldly claim.

Playfully reserved, she looks up and down at me. "You seem to hear a lot."

"Sure I do." I push the swinging door open – not particularly resistant against burglary anyway – and motion Harper to enter.

"Very charming," she murmurs while passing. "I still can't believe even first years could walk in here."

"Audacity wins." I let my eyes wander over the solid wood of the shelves and give a half-shrug. "The no-entry sign keeps most people out. Presumed barriers are quite enough for the small-minded“

"Which we're not?"

"Obviously not," I reply, smirking as cheekily as she does as I point my wand at the door again. "Colloportus!"

Better safe than sorry. If someone patrols and the door to the forbidden section is wide open, we find ourselves in trouble.

"And don't forget the barrier of screaming books," Harper murmurs. "It almost cost me my life last time ..."

She really did almost die of shock, just like I did the first time I was here.   
But a few months ago, Professor Slughorn was kind enough, albeit unintentionally, to mention a librarian's spell preventing this unpleasant accompaniment.   
The man has no idea how helpful he is to me .... 

It took me a bit of trial and error, but in the end it was literally no complicated witchcraft.

"Lumos!" Harper whispers, then she is already lighting up the spines of books on the dark shelves with her wand. "What was it again that you mentioned yesterday? The word sounded so strange ..."

"Horcrux," I repeat, meanwhile also tracing my wand over the ancient covers. 

"What do you know about it so far?"

I am about to answer, but then I pause - I hear that voice, again ....  
It follows me. Almost as if it were in the walls, as if it were directly under, above, or beside me ... Or in my head? 

I had initially tried to ignore it, to give it no space, but it becomes louder. More urgent. As though there were something that was alone for me to hear. A fateful destiny that I ought to follow.

Unless, of course, these whispered words are really only just in my head …

I ask, "Do you hear that?"

Harper freezes and quickly looks around, then she glares at me. "What?" she asks, swallowing. "Is someone coming?"

I slowly shake my head, causing her to put her hands on her hips in annoyance.

"Then how can you scare me like that?"

I want to retort something, but that whispering ... I can barely hear myself think.

"Tom?" She looks at me with traces of concern on her face. "Are you alright?"

I just nod as the whispering seems to move away, after all.   
There is no point in talking about it. If I ask Harper whether she also hears phrases as 'I'm waiting for you' coming from the walls, I am rather sure we would be already two to doubt my sanity ...

"If we’re caught here, we'll be expelled at once," Harper urges, startling me out of my reveries. "While I really like being here with you, we should at least hurry up."

"Yes," I agree with her, "we should indeed."

And we do carry on swiftly. We keep searching until we find it - an unimpressive book with a black leather cover. On its spine, a tiny oak tree, split by lightning, can be seen in silver lines. 

"This ..." Carefully I take it off the shelf, wishing to keep the ancient binding from flying apart before I can even begin to read. "This must be it."

Harper moves closer to look over my shoulder.

"Do you want to try it again?" I ask her.

She gives a dismissive wave of her hand. "Thank you, no. Do what you do best."

I nod, then I inwardly thank Professor Slughorn.

"Silencio occultatum!", I lift the librarian's curse so our ears will not have to bleed again.

Before I can even open turn the pages, however, Harper lets her fingers glide over the spine of the book.

She has really cute little hands. And always leftover ink on her fingers.

"What does the oak tree mean?" she asks me.

"It’s just a symbol," I say, already beginning to skim our source. At some point, still lost in thought, I add, "The splitting of the tree is supposed to represent the parting of the soul."

"What?" With slight irritation she lowers the book out of my field of vision so she can directly look at me. "Tom, that's seriously black magic again, isn't it?"

"It is," I admit, and am about to continue reading when -

"Let me see for myself." She takes the book from me, then she reads and reads as her eyes grow wide.   
Until she looks up at me again.

"Tom, did you ..." She swallows, not wanting to let her trepidation show, but her facial expressions speak volumes nonetheless. "Did you read this?"

She points her finger at the paragraph defining the condition, then turns the book and examines the cover with the split oak again. "Someone has to die for this to happen," she whispers. "One life for another. For several -"

"Since you mention the plural -"

"The plural?" She shakes her head hastily. "What do you mean by that?"

"What can be split once can be split several times, don't you think?"

Slughorn’s look at these words was one of timid disbelief. As though he had always suspected it. Suspected that something like this would keep me awake at night. That dull magic tricks, for Muggles to smile at, could not excite me, while the Dark Arts had always been my interest.

There was bitter realization in Slughorn's gaze. 

Harper, on the other hand, is looking at me like a stranger right now - and I cannot help but notice that I do not like it at all.   
It feels unexpectedly and peculiarly stale ....

With Slughorn, it basically amused me. As I was like a light in the fog. Easy to see, but by no means to be captured.

But with Harper, it is the other way around. I am the darkness in her light, and it does not amuse me in the least to admit that to myself.

"Why would anyone rip the soul apart multiple times?" she asks, troubled. "And commit multiple murders to do so?"

"The murders would only as a means to an end - and I don't know if I'd really necessarily call it ripping the soul apart ..."

"Call it what you will, but in the end it requires a sacrifice each time …" She takes a deep breath, then she looks at me fearlessly. "Tell me - who would it be?" She almost smiles. "Me?"

"Of course not," I reply more quickly than I intend. Dully, I follow up with, "That would be foolish."

"Why?"

The real reason is obvious. And yet I say, "What would the choir do without its nightingale?"

"It would keep singing," she says firmly. "The world would be the same."

Mine would not.  
And she knows fully well that this thought is crossing my mind right now.

Maybe that is why she looks at me so sternly. "So if I don't gift you my life for your immortality," she says under her breath, "who would, Tom? Who would you not miss? Whose beloved would you take to split your soul?"

"Harper, these are purely theoretical thoughts -"

"Death is not," she protests softly.

"Look," I sigh, "basically we're just talking about some kind of … protection. Of an eternal part to the self." 

She nods, snorting. Then she crosses her arms and whispers, "May be true in theory, but in practice, normal people just have kids for that kind of thing!"

I look at her and frown. "Normal people?"

"Yes!" she hisses. "Family is a form of immortality. Love, faith, friendship ... memories ... All that makes you immortal as well!"

"Quite kitschy," I say.

"So what? Soul tearing is just cheating! And I may sound kitschy, but you sound a lot more machiavellian than you really are!"

"Is that what you really think?"

I do not ask her this cynically. I want a serious answer.

And she nods.

But something within myself resists believing her. "The ends," I continue, "justifies the means, that's how life plays - feelings are nothing but chemistry, and smoke and mirrors."

"Like sugar and fat?" she shoots back. "Still, it made you smile, didn't it? The way Elliott makes you laugh when he tells you about his mice. The way you make me laugh when you look at me with that scowl of thoughtfulness that, after all, only equals devoted contentment. The way -"

"I have to smile when you talk about family?" I look at her for a bit. "What makes you so sure I'm not smiling at it? I've never had a family, Harper."

She hesitates for a moment. And if I did not know better, I would say she is wrestling with herself.

"Tom," she finally says, looking up again. "Yes. I know what happened. But I can also imagine what is. And what will be."

"That would be equivalent to the elective course of Divination, wouldn't it? There's a reason it’s not mandatory ..."

She expels her breath in such an annoyed manner that I am beginning to think she is about to turn her back on me and will never speak another word to me.

But she does not let go of me. Figuratively speaking ...

"Now listen to me carefully!" she insists. "You and I, we share this mad fascination with the darkness of this world. But that doesn't make us bad people. And even though we come from completely different backgrounds, in the end, there's only this one, real difference between you and me."

I look at her questioningly.

"You're not only fascinated by it - you're not afraid of black magic at all," she says. "You think it's been a part of you for a long time. But it’s not, I know better." 

I tilt my head, for a few heartbeats.   
She truly means it.  
But why is it so hard for me to believe even the one person who has never lied to me in my life?

As though she could sense my doubts, she smiles for me. "And, Tom, what was, your past - that doesn't determine the future. We're so young. We could do anything, with a little luck. Immortality all without broken pieces to cut ourselves with. After all, we hold all the cards ..."

"We?"

She nods. "You and me. Right?" After a moment's silence, she looks impatiently at the floor and trails off, "At least as long as the brightest head I've ever met finally stops pretending he doesn't know what I'm talking about ..."

I know it for a fact. I have known what she was talking about for years. What she hints at with charming restraint.   
But why she, of all people, seeks my proximity and looks out for warmth where there cannot actually be any, I just cannot wrap my head around. While I unsettle everyone else and puzzle them, Harper thinks she has solved my riddles.

But here, where we should not be, under the cover of night, with the book about Horcruxes in her hand, she should recognize what I am. What I will be one day.

What does she see in me? 

And who of us is wrong?

I ask myself the inevitable question that I never wanted to ask because I thought I had answered it for myself long ago. 

What initially felt like a moral upset in me has since given way to lethargic equanimity. Where nothing is, nothing can be. It is what it is - I thought. 

Until now. Because in the end, it burns too much on my soul to be ignored. 

"Harper," I say, lifting her chin so I can see her eyes, "swear to me you'll answer honestly."

"To what?" she asks, perplexed. Then she nods in the light of my serious face. "Yes, well, I swear."

"Tell me - do you think I could murder in cold blood?"

Silence falls between us, but she still does not break away from my gaze.

And that is the crux - I hear it quite clearly in her thoughts, how she actually believes in me.

My pulse increases, even if that never happens. But her opinion is obviously more important to me than either of us realize.

She just puts the book down next to us, and then instead of moving away from me, instead of gaining distance, she moves even closer. She takes my hands in hers, and I did not see that coming. Her fingers are ice cold, but her gaze is so warm.

"No," she then simply says . "I don't. I don't think you would. I never have, and I never will. Not because you're not capable of it. Not because you couldn't do it skillfully enough - there's no question about that. But I know you're not cold-blooded. You never were such thing to me."

For a split second, I feel like I am suffocating miserably. Or am I breathing a sigh of relief? It is as if my dull, gray soul wants to hear just that. Hear that someone believes in me and something good in me. Just once, and for the first time, hear that there is not only destructiveness, polemics and hatred in me.

I could have just as easily come here alone. I could have done what I always do - hide my true colors behind the mask of the reserved model student.

I just did not want to. I wanted her to be with me. Like my anchor.

But suddenly we hear footsteps approaching.

She freezes, but I do not. I have done this too many times before ... 

I hurriedly place the book about Horcruxes back in the appropriate shelf, then I extinguish the lights of our wands and pull Harper to me behind one of the shelves, so that we cannot be seen from the corridor.

We both hold our breaths as the beam of light from a lantern approaches unpleasantly fast. Harper is soon biting her lower lip tensely and clinging to me. She rests her head on my chest, completely intuitive. And as inappropriate as this may be right now - her body heat against my skin is terribly comfortable. 

The steps slow down when the cone of light is at our level, and we both immediately turn our faces away from the aisle. 

The librarian also does tours at night - we knew that. But the fact that she seemed to be interested in reading in the forbidden section herself was news to me. 

For about half an hour, we stand behind our shelf, quietly and breathing shallowly, while Madam Pince cheerfully hums and leafs through the books. She keeps muttering terms and spells, and every now and then she chuckles, causing Harper and me to exchange desperately amused glances.

As I begin to think that we will never leave this library again, I basically make my peace with that thought. Maybe I should never let Harper go... However, Madam Pince eventually yawns wearily and, in a maudlin soliloquy, finds that that is actually enough for today.

The light of the lantern turns from our direction back into the interior of the library and also the steps of Madam Pince move away.

Only, however, when we cannot hear anything at all, do we actually relax. 

"I thought we were going to get expelled," Harper groans, then laughs softly as she leaves our hiding place. "That was pretty exciting!"

"It was," I confirm and just smile as we both lean back against the high shelves.

And somehow, I am not so eager to read more books this night. The shadows of the struts from the moonlit glass windows stand out on Harper's pretty face, as they have for the last half hour - this, and her lack of closeness to me now increasingly irritates me.

And then, when she also looks indecisively at my lips, it is like a reflex. As if, after all the hours, days, weeks and months I have already spent with her, I suddenly know exactly what can save me. I may be beside myself, and even more so when I raise my hand to her cheek, pull her to me and just kiss her, but it is the only thing that feels sensible right now.

We do not kiss roughly. More like our mutually soothed souls have long been intertwined anyways.

And I know we have both wondered for a while what it would be like to have our lips touch. But I was admittedly unprepared for it to be so real and surreal at the same time. So frighteningly meaningful ...

As we pull away from each other, a broad smile creeps onto her face. "Why didn't you do that before?"

"I'm wondering now as well," I admit honestly. Then, though, I claim, "We were just friends."

"You're lying," she whispers evenly. "We were never just friends."

"No?"

She shakes her head. "No. Must be my singing voice, though ..."

I laugh to myself and turn my attention to her much too loose tie knot. "That, too, yes. Come on, I'll take you up to your tower so the janitor won’t come for you."

"How heroic," she quips, and shaking my head, but strangely pleased, I pull her along with me.


	5. Blood in Circles

#Chapter 5  
#Blood in Circles

"I remember it as if it was yesterday - oh, how I felt when I was your age ..."

Professor Slughorn smiles merrily at the class from behind his little cauldron, and I almost regret that not even the icy cold of the dungeons harm his chirpy mood in any way.

"Of course, you don't have to put your hands up," he quips, "but surely one or two of you are already in love for the first time?" He chuckles, while most of us look at him bleakly, giggle, or cringe in feigned disgust. "Well, Oscar Wilde, one of my favorite Muggle authors, said, and I quote: It is not the perfect, but the imperfect, who have need of love.."

I suppose a cynic could argue that said quote was more about ridiculous idolization than romance. 

Whereby it probably makes no difference in the end.   
For a moment, I do look at Harper, so pitifully maudlin, making me want to curse myself for it.   
She is in my every thought, and I even begin to enjoy it ...

Anyway, I found plenty of books by Wilde in the orphanage.   
Blessed are those who have nothing to say and still keep their mouths shut. That is by him, as well, but Slughorn obviously does not remember that in particular.

"Perhaps," he takes the floor again after a superfluous pause for art, "from my quotation, you can already guess what today's lesson will be about? Mr McBurney, can you?"

"Sir, Veritaserum?"

"Oh, young friend, no," says Slughorn, frowning anxiously. "Have you, in your short years, already been so tricked that all you can think of on the subject of love is a truth serum?"

"Honesty can't hurt, can it?" says McBurney uncertainly, shrugging his shoulders as Slughorn chuckles.

"Why, yes, certainly not," he confirms, "however, let's devote ourselves to something else today. Ms Greene, do you have any ideas?"

Leonora shakes her head hastily. "I’m afraid I don't know what you're getting at, Professor."

Slughorn's glance, from her to Elliott and back, tells me that he has long suspected more than sympathy in the two of them. Next, however, he smiles at Harper.

"What about you, Ms Sullivan? What's your guess?"

"Possibly you're alluding to Amortentia?"

"Excellent!" Slughorn beams. "What do you know about it, dear?"

"Well, it is, as far as I am truthfully informed, the most powerful known love potion." Slughorn nods for her to continue. "It must be administered regularly. Drinking it will not manufacture true love, much more an unhealthy form of obsession that has nothing to do with one's own free will."

"Wonderful, ten points to Ravenclaw!" exclaims Slughorn, looking around with glee. "Does anyone else know anything about this?"

Elliott raises his hand, but he is already talking. "The smell of the liquid is supposed to be irresistible to each individual. At least that's what I’ve once read ..."

"Correct!" Slughorn nods stoutly. "For me, it would be lavender. What would it be for you, Mr Bryant?"

Elliott does some soul-searching for a moment, then a light seems to dawn on him. "Probably bacon," he asserts.

That causes even me to grin ...

"Mr Riddle," Slughorn then turns around, "what scent could you not resist?"

I will not mention Harper as though I was mad. Yet she always reminds me of cinnamon, and that results in the rare capability of calming me down.

"Rain," I say nevertheless. "The smell of purification ..."

"Interesting," Slughorn murmurs before he proceeds to nod. Then, abruptly, he asks, "What ingredients could you imagine in an Amortentia potion, then, Mr Riddle?"

"Eggs of a snake, though not just any snake, it has to be an Ashwinder, rose thorns, peppermint, then powdered moonstone as well as pearl dust and rose petals. These should be the main ingredients."

"Excellent, Tom, ten points to Slytherin! Let's get right to it!"

As Slughorn turns to face the fire under his cauldron, Elliott pokes me, amused.

"Come on, what is it with you - when do you learn all this?"

I shrug. "I usually only have to read things once."

He whispers, "See? That's exactly why they're already thinking you to be the next Minister for Magic, you model student."

I give him an irritated look. "What the hell?"

"Yes!" he whispers. "Believe me, I’ve just heard Dippet say it the other day. They think you're a rare talent and obviously highly gifted."

I raise my eyebrows and barely noticeably shake my head.

Meanwhile Slughorn digs out a book and smiles conspiratorially as he turns back to the class.

"If it's just between us," he says excitedly, "all of you may also take a look at our original recipe for today. It's from a very special book that is not freely available to students." He lifts the tome with its dingy brown cover and winks.

So does Harper as she seeks my gaze. Moste Potente Potions - the book has long since been found quite far to the left and high up on the shelves of the forbidden section ...

"This shows recipes for very powerful potions," Slughorn explains, "however, it also includes illustrations that are not for the faint of heart."

The book also includes a recipe for Polyjuice Potion, though it is so tedious to brew that I was tempted to not even try. But Harper wanted to, so we have been secretly gathering ingredients for months.

"Please do find a partner now," Slughorn insists. "Shoo, shoo, maybe even a future couple can be found?"

"I’ll be with Leo then," Elliott says with his cauldron already under his arm, but that is fine with me as Harper is already looking back at me as well.

"Us?" she lip-forms, and I simply wink in response before helping her bring her cauldron and some ingredients to me.

In the meanwhile, Slughorn also has the recipe written on the blackboard by an enchanted chalk, and he is showing the forbidden book around with due caution. He is in good spirits indeed. Until he gets to Harper and me. From then on, he is literally bursting with joy.

"Oh, Ms Sullivan, so you work with Tom?"

Harper nods mischievously. "I'm picking up a few tricks from your model student today."

"Quite a wonderful idea," Slughorn finds. "Would you like to take a peek at Moste Potente Potions, too?"

"I'd love to, after all I love premieres!" she says, "don't you as well, Tom?"

She does not make a face, but I hear her thoughts. That it is downright bizarre how we have already read everything from this book …

"Of course I do," I finally say, already looking at the book. "Professor, which of the illustrations do you think are not for - what did you say? The faint of heart?"

"Oh, Tom, you really do ask eerie questions sometimes," he remarks almost nervously, even when he really meant to rebuke me.

"And you are always dismayed by my curiosity," I reply. "Though it is never my intention to worry you."

"Of course, sure, Tom." Slughorn waves off what appears to be nonchalance. "Well," he says, beginning to flip through the yellowed pages, "to be honest, I find this drawing in particular quite upsetting."

He hands us the open book and taps the bottom half of the left page.

On display is a portrait of a woman, drawn only in black brushstrokes. She looks completely worn out - and her weary gaze is indeed blank - there are no irises or pupils to be seen. Pure white as an absence of color, soon to be worse than dreary gray.

"The potion you're about to brew is very powerful," Slughorn finally explains, sighing. "It's a pity, you know. What could be such a happy little water ends up bringing misery to everyone involved. You see ..." He struggles with his wording, obviously not wanting to say anything that might scare Harper. "Tom, I bet you're already familiar with the unforgivable curses."

"I am, Professor."

"And you, Ms Sullivan?"

She smiles like a saint, "I've heard of them."

Slughorn nods almost fatherly. "I almost thought so, my dear. Well ..." He takes a deep breath, then he takes heart in formulating his thought as mindfully as possible. "Amortenia does indeed, as Ms Sullivan mentioned earlier, make you will-less. It's basically akin to an Imperius curse in that respect, although the term love potion may imply a little more ... well, kindness ... by the euphemistic wording."

"And yet, any thought of romance notwithstanding," I continue to think aloud, "no noble ends underlie either means to an end."

"Indeed, Tom, that is true. Every touch, every kiss - nothing but forced ... Unthinkable where such a spell might lead, especially since it develops a truly gruesome aftertaste."

"Thank you for showing us the book, Professor." Harper nods thoughtfully. "As you know, Tom and I share a high enthusiasm for broad, academic topics. And a book like this rarely finds its way into the classroom."

Slughorn sighs. "Well, I think that's a bit of a shame anyway. I mean, only those who know about the dangers of this world can arm themselves against them."

"Your approach to teaching is refreshingly practical." She smiles. "Which is not to say, of course, that I would ever pour any of our brew into Tom's tea."

Slughorn laughs softly, and I with him, even when I do not wish to.

"Ms Sullivan, I don't think what you learn today is required to be used in any of your endeavors," Slughorn flatters, "but speaking of which - I really must commend you. The other day the choir sang just as beautiful as ever."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll pass your compliments on to Madam Rashlay and the others."

"Do so, do so," he asks. "And now you'll have to rap Tom's knuckles if he intends to use too many thorns, yes?"

"I will," she giggles as Slughorn moves on with his forbidden book.

"Not to let any of your aspirations go to waste," I reuse Slughorn's idea, turning to Harper with a wry smile, "I don't drink tea."

"Neither Butterbeer," she mimes great regret. "Then how am I going to do it?"

"You'll have to be creative," I speculate as I search for the Ashwinder eggs among our ingredients. "You might want to sneak into the dungeons at night and -"

"And what? Administer some of this to you while you sleep? I don't think it'll do me much good anymore if you choke on it."

"Possibly not," I agree with her. "You have a remarkably sober view of the crucial facts."

"I do. Which is why you should stop talking and turn the pearls into dust."

"Maybe you'd like to finally fire up the cauldron?"

"You could have done that as well," she mocks, winking. "Help yourself."

"Excuse me?" I grin. "I had to philosophize about the dialectic of good and evil with Slughorn, that -"

"Tom, help," Elliott suddenly whimpers behind me, looking hurriedly at Slughorn, who is busy elsewhere with students and his book. "What do I have to do with the pearls? They won't dissolve."

Irritated, I look at him. "You just ... put them in the cauldron, didn’t you."

Elliott nods. "The whole bunch, yeah. A lot goes a long way." 

I take a deep breath.

"No good?"

"You need them dusty."

"The whole pearl doesn’t do it?"

"No," I say. "Ell, the recipe is on the board, isn't it?"

"Leo's distracting me," he purrs, equally agonized and euphoric. "I can see us getting married and having kids."

"Oh, so you're going to make yourselves immortal?" asks Harper smugly, giving me a sideways glance.

"Why not, yes," Elliott beams. "That's a nice phrase for it, I think. Thank goodness my family isn't so fond of their blood status, or I might as well get over the idea. That jerk Partridge, I'm sure his parents would throw him right out the door ..."

"Wait a minute," Harper says quietly, "over a connection to a muggle-born witch?"

Elliott nods and rolls his eyes. "Yes, some people still get awfully fancy about it. We have a few candidates in Slytherin in particular who think they're magical nobility. Whereas the family tree of these people is probably a circle, similar to the royal houses of the Muggles. So you probably can't even blame them for being so narrow-minded."

"Since when did you get so cynical?" I ask Elliott skeptically.

"I got that from you," he remarks, winking. "In return for my fine sense of humor ..."

"You'd better return to your cauldron," I say, "Slughorn sees you in about a second ..."

Hastily, he nods and steals back to Leonora.

"So blood is really still an issue in Slytherin?" Harper looks at me with trepidation.

"Yes, it is," I answer her. "Why?"

She smiles vaguely.

"What, ask the question you want to ask, Harper."

"Well - what do you think about it?"

"Me? What am I supposed to think about it? I can hardly develop a proper sense of arrogance in this regard if I don't know my parents. I have no idea what I am made of myself."

She hesitates, then gives herself a jolt. "My parents are No-Majs."

"Don't they just say that in the United States?"

She nods. "They do, but most of my family members still live in Maryland. My old great uncle and a distant cousin also have magic in their blood, so the family has known that there are two worlds for generations. Still, that makes me a mudblood."

Briefly, I bristle. I would have bet everything on the assumption of Harper being a pure blood. This is more than interesting ...

"Why do you use that pejorative yourself?", I wonder moreover.

"So it doesn't hurt that much when others do it." Her look is strangely challenging. "A nihilist like you probably wouldn’t understand it."

"Ow." Playfully struck, I clasp my hand to my heart. "Didn't you recently claim I was empathetic?"

"I never claimed that," she says hastily, "I just said you weren't cold-blooded."

Her tense features give way to a wave of emotion. "You know," she sighs, "that's kind of ... a sore point. I never talk about it, hardly anyone knows it."

"But why?"

"Are you serious?" She stares at me for a few heartbeats. "What's not to understand? My parents are the dearest people from here to Baltimore, fascinated by magic and infinitely proud of me - and yet in our world there are lunatics who look down on them as though they were animals."

"Undeniably, the world of magic holds the advantage."

"Obviously," she retorts indignantly, "but does that increase it’s worth? No sorcerer had ever thought as deep as Einstein! And without Edison, we'd all be in the dark, despite our wands!"

"Or we'd be saying Lumos Maxima." Before she can get completely mad, I hastily follow up, "Sorry, I know what you are getting at. And I owe your parents gratitude."

She screws up her face and looks at me. "Why?"

"Because of you," I say turning back to the thorns. "If it wasn’t for them, you would be here."

"Oh." She nods. "Then I guess I'm grateful to your parents, too."

I look up bleakly. "Well, so at least one soul this side of hell."

"Tom, you didn't know them. Why do you hate them so much?"

"I do not."

She hesitates. Because what could she possibly return? Eventually, though, she asks, "Do you see me in a different light now? As a mudblood?"

"Don't say that again," I admonish her somewhat absently as I measure boiling water. "And don't be ashamed of it. The blood in your veins has made you a talented witch. Obviously." I look up from my measuring cup for a moment. "Now, on the other hand, look at Partridge. Ell's right, his family tree is a circle. On good days, at most, he holds his wand the right way up. His pure blood seems to be of quite limited use."

Relieved, almost grateful, she looks at me. Then she sighs wistfully. 

"Haven't you ever tried to find out more about your roots?"

"No," I say casually.

"Shall we do some research together sometime?"

"No. Not about that."

With a fair amount of disappointment, she stirs the liquid in our cauldron, then looks at me with wide eyes, as if that might convince me.

"No," I repeat firmly. "Let sleeping dogs lie."

"All right ... less thorns, model student."

"Hm?"

"Slughorn predicted you'd overdo it." She points to the pile of thorns I was about to push off the wooden board and into the cauldron.

"I guess Slughorn chose Divination as an elective, too."

She grimaces and laughs to herself. "You must always have the last word ..."

"Must is such a stretchy term."

"See? That's exactly what I mean."


	6. Theory and Practice

"Why does the Owlery have to be so far away from the castle?" Elliott groans, his every word visible through misty breath. "It's a walk around the world every time, and it's bitterly cold out here."

"Imagine moving the owls to the castle," Leonora says. "You do realize that your robe would have been black for the longest time, don’t you?"

"Yes, I do," he replies insightfully. "But ... don’t they say that brings good luck anyway?"

"Depends how you look at it," Harper states. "Your mice would’ve been in permanent danger with hungry hunters over the castle. As his partner in crime, don't you think so, too?"

She beams at me, and her red cheeks really are by far the most comforting thing about this trip. This realization also makes me nod rather peacefully in the end. 

"Well," Leonora giggles as she grabs Elliott’s hand, "and a walk like this, in the quiet of winter - isn’t that just lovely?"

Elliott grins, but I just trudge on gloomily through the deep snow. By the time we reach the foot of the stairs, however, I just cannot hold back any longer. "Delightful, yes ... What could be better than freezing your nose off in this cold to collect some letters."

"Oh, come on, Tom," Harper sighs with a wry smile on her face as she also begins to take the stairs, "why are you in such a bad mood?"

"I'm always in a bad mood, in case you haven’t noticed."

"Let’s see who’s there first!"

Leonora and Elliott engage in an impromptu, laugh-intensive race up to the Owlery, while Harper, for her part, stops and puts her hands on her hips.

"They say if you force yourself to smile, you'll be in a better mood indeed. So will you be smiling for me?"

Wanly, I comply with her request.

"Are you really doing your best right now?" she asks in amusement. "Really your very best?"

She looks at me so impertinently that, against all odds, I do have to chuckle.

"Come on," I finally say as I take her hand so we walk on together, "we should follow those two merrymakers closely, in case we’re required to help with some first aid."

"It's also out of self-interest that I finally want to get up there," she reveals to me. "I'm sure my parents have sent a letter - Christmas is just around the corner!"

"Yes, I can't wait for the feast of love myself," I say, "at the orphanage, we ate baked apples every year, and we held hands sitting in a circle while singing Silent Night. It was heartwarming."

She looks at me, puzzled. "Really?"

"No. Of course not."

She sighs. "Sorry, you just sound pretty convincing most of the time!"

This time, I stop her to give her a wry smile. "You’ll find I can be very … persuasive."

"Indeed," she says softly, looking up at me before I kiss her fleetingly.

"You'd better find a quiet corner in the castle for this," Elliott calls down to us cheerfully. "Come on already - you can still get married later!"

Harper grins at me and whispers, "Now us! Who’s up there first?“

I watch her run off inwardly groaning, but then I eventually hurry after her, yet by the time I reach the top of the tower I can barely catch up.

"Last place," Elliott announces to me once I reach the top, patting my shoulder. "Who would have thought you'd ever be last in anything?"

"I do not know if you're too familiar with the rules and regulations of a fair race," I retort, "but normally the starting point as well as the starting time are the same for all competitors participating."

"Which wasn't the case here?" Leonora asks.

I nod. "That's exactly what I wanted to imply. So - shall we?"

"Oh, yes," Harper replies, advancing directly into the circular, open space.

The stone walls - ashy white after centuries of providing a home to the owls - could hardly let more December wind whistle through their cracked joints. The dark wooden beams of the spire are full of cobwebs, and the owls' clucking and cooing resemble a lively first year class.  
Only the view is captivating. From the glassless windows, the ample lands of the castle can be sighted, at least as long as the incoming birds allow, the Forbidden Forest reaches out to the northeast as far as the eye can see, and the Great Lake glistens in the light of the cloudy sky.

"Jeannie!" exclaims Harper, thus verbally searching for her owl in the meantime. "Jeannie Harlow, where are you?"

"You named your owl after Jean Harlow?"

Harper turns to me in surprise and nods. "Yes. Obviously."

I shake my head, grinning.

"What?" she laughs indignantly. "We're American, we like Hollywood ..."

"Would you be shocked if I put on something more comfortable?", I ask her, quoting Jean.

"Oh, I forgot!" She nods with satisfaction. "You're another one of those people who occasionally watch Hollywood movies."

"You said it yourself the other day," I reply, looking around the Owlery as well. "We share interests in broad topics."

"Yes, I get it, you’re of one heart and soul," Elliott quips as he finds and picks up his own owl.

"So much for splitting into multiple souls," I murmur to Harper.

"Well, that’ll have to do for now,“ she says and winks.

"Oh, watch out!" Leonora exclaims, ducking away from an incoming owl - something we instantly do as well.

"Jeannie!" Harper then rejoices and follows the owl to the railing of her choice. "There you are! Guess you’ll always have to make such a dramatic entrance, huh?"

"She's a Hollywood diva, obviously," Elliott chuckles.

Harper waves it off with amusement and after stroking Jeannie's feathers for a bit, she, too, takes the mail from her. 

No parchment, no wax seals. Obviously just a normal letter from a normal Muggle family.

"My dad put a stamp on it again," Harper sighs as she comes over with the letter in her hand. "You know, he says it makes him feel more confident that the letter will arrive if Jeannie accidentally drops it."

"We all tell ourselves certain things to fall asleep at night," I find.

"True enough," Elliott agrees with me. "But maybe now that we all have our correspondence, we could leave again? I actually want my robe to stay black ..."

"But Tom doesn't have his mail yet" Leonora protests, looking at me with a smile. "We’ll waiting for you."

What is well meant is not always well done.

"That won't be necessary for lack of relatives," I inform her, already strolling back outside.

"Oh, of course – I’m sorry." Gritting her teeth, she and the others follow me into the pale light of this winter day. "I forget that sometimes ..."

"I'm not sentimental," I reassure her.

"Well, here we go!" Elliott directly destroys the wax seal on his letter as we follow the stairs back down. "My son," he reads aloud, "like every year ..." After that, he just mumbles to himself.

Leonora, on the other hand, gets directly indignant as she reads aloud the lines addressed to her. "Your dear brother Raymond reported to us that you behaved indecently?" She turns to Harper. "They're out of their minds!" Angrily, she reads on, completely engrossed in her letter.

"Will we read mine together later?" Harper asks me quietly.

I give her an irritated glance. "Why? It's yours."

"Yes, it is," she admits, "but ... just trust me."

"What are you up to?" I eye her suspiciously.

"Nothing," she affirms, but the corners of her mouth twitch already. At least until she looks ahead again, grimaces in annoyance, and thus makes me follow her gaze as well.

Elliott as well as Leonora are still staring at their letters and have almost reached the snowy meadows again - but none of them see that Raymond has long since run towards them with some friends, and angrily at that.

"Not again," Harper groans. Calling ahead to the two she warns, "Ell, Leo, look up!"

"That's exactly what I told you not to do in Hogsmeade the other day!" Raymond already yells from a distance. "Why don't you stay away from them like I say? I'm your brother!"

"Well, if that's not an argument," I grumble as Harper immediately rushes to Leonora.

"Ray, please," she moans, "in the Three Broomsticks Inn you were drunk, but today -"

"Don’t speak to me like that!"

"Come on, Ray," Leonora also tries to calm him down, but he loudly cuts her off as well.

"How deluded are you two, anyway?" He shoves Elliott away from Leonora and Harper while I'm still walking toward the scenario.

"Do you really think they have good intentions? I can already predict this is going to end badly for you!"

"Divination is an elective for a reason," Harper repeats my words from the other day, and smugly indeed. 

"Ray, I know you're just trying to protect me," Leonora says, "but how dare you claim to our parents that I'm being indecent? I can take care of myself!"

"Like her?" Raymond points at Harper angrily. If for nothing else, I finally quicken my steps because of that. "All of Hogwarts is already whispering about her being in Riddle’s thrall!"

"Rest assured I'm in nobody’s thrall," Harper hisses. "But unlike you, I'm not afraid of a tie color! Just as Leo isn’t afraid of green."

By now I've arrived by her side, too, and I smile friendly like saint. "Raymond, there you are again," I say. "And just as charming as the other day, I see."

"Have you taken a close look at your model student?" he growls at Harper, then he eyes me himself. "It's all a facade! The professors are completely blinded by his cleverness, and you may like his perfect face, but I know exactly what's going on inside his head!"

"I truly doubt that," I remark. "But an amusing thought."

"You're just playing with her!" he exclaims as his red friends nod dismissively. "You think her to be nothing but an unworthy mudblood!" 

"Bold of you, Raymond," I retort, emphatically calm, "to call her that in front of me, of all people." 

"Everyone in Slytherin does it, right? Every child knows that!"

"That, you hero," Elliott now begins to mock, "is just as much a prejudice. So congratulations! You've just checkmated yourself."

Raymond looks at him in wary disbelief. "Quite the opposite, you filthy snake!" 

He pulls out his wand, however, I'm faster.

"Aerem exspergo!"

Instantly, he staggers back. He literally loses his breath. The pressure on the airways from this curse is immense, and it will probably be quite as unpleasant as the forbidden books have described it to be. Judging by Raymond's face - already red and completely panicked - it's true, anyway. He's gasping miserably, and for the life of him his friends don't know what to do about it.

"Tom, all right, that's enough!" exclaims Leonora, and Harper, nodding hastily, also touches my arm.

Before Hogwarts, I could barely handle the magic inside me. Its rage would hit anyone who got in my way, relentlessly and out of proportion.   
Since Scotland, it is a different story. I now control the magic. But at the same time, I can feel how much more damage I can specifically do with it.

"Tom!" Harper repeats, and only reluctantly do I lower my wand to let go of Raymond.

He coughs on the ground still, while his friends gather around him. Leonora also bends over her brother, worried at first.

"He still can't breathe," she then calls out to me, wide-eyed. "Do you know of a counterspell?"

I look at the extent of the chaos and cannot help but notice that it is quite pleasant.

"Come on!" Harper looks at me urgently. "Please!"

I sigh, walking past her and towards Raymond with my wand drawn.

"Stay away from him!" one of his companions shouts.

"So you've got this?", I ask tiredly.

His friend balks, then backs away.

"Thought so."

Closely followed by Harper, I raise my wand again. "Anapneo!"

Raymond immediately takes an agitated breath. Again he snorts, but this time he actually gets enough air while Leonora and Harper pat him on the back.

I, on the other hand, just look down at him suspiciously, ignoring all the horrified faces directed at me at that moment. I have learned years ago how to stop paying attention to them.

"Dippet's going to expell you for this!" one of Raymond's friends growl at me.

I ask, seemingly surprised, "You dare tell him?"

Silence. Thoughtful silence.  
What a delight ...

"There goes the lions’ courage," Elliott sums it up for the group of Gryffindors. Then he says to me, "Way too cold here, let's leave ..."

That is what I like about Elliott.  
He knows no misguided pity that comes solely from his own ego ideal.

And even Leonora now takes Harper's hand, stands up and says, "Don't worry about it, brother, you'll be fine. Just don't stick your nose into my business any more."

"How dare you!" gasps Raymond, now stoutly helped up by his friends. "Father will rage! You don't even have to show your face at home for Christmas!"

"I have nothing to celebrate with you patriarchs anyway," she barks back sourly, letting Harper lead her to us.

Elliott reaches out to her, visibly proud, and Harper does not look back either.

"You're out of your minds!" Raymond shouts after us. "There'll be consequences, you’ll see!"

After we have put some distance between us, Leonora says to me, "That was a little extreme, but ..." She takes a deep breath and looks at the ground. "As rough as he was to me the other day after Hogsmeade, I don't even care."

"Did he hurt you?" asks Elliott, earnest sorrow lacing every word.

"He was just angry," she evades him. "Also about my clothing, he just has some ... antiquated ideas. Just like my father." She sighs. "I really can't possibly go home for Christmas now ..."

"Then come with me!" Elliott is eager to suggest. "Well ... if you want to ..."

"Is that a serious invitation?" she giggles.

"Oh, yes!"

"Well, that could be cleared up quickly," Harper says, smirking before she does turn thoughtful again. "But what if your brother is running to Dippet now?"

"Surely he won't," Elliott says with conviction. 

"And if he does," I say, "as a prefect, I felt compelled to act because a wand was raised against Slytherin."

"Good thing you can be so persuasive, huh?"

I nod. "Never hurts."

"So when do we read my letter?" she whispers to me as Elliott and Leonora lead the way.

"Harper," I sigh, "why don't you just read it on your own and leave me alone with -"

"No," she immediately cuts me off. "I won’t. And aren't you cold, too?"

"What does one have to do with the other?"

"Well, I just think that today, after your valiant efforts as a prefect, you might just as well make use of the merits of that role ..."

I laugh softly. "Like on the fifth floor?"

"I knew you’d get me.“ She winks. "I'm sure we can get warmed up in a bath and then, we read my letter."

"I hate to admit it", I say, "but obviously you can be quite persuasive, as well."


	7. Move by Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your kudos and bookmark, hope you'll like the new chapter. Let me know your thoughts if you like :)

"Myrtle, what are you doing here?"

Harper forces a polite smile as we meet her still outside the locker rooms.

"Olive's always bragging about bathing here - so I thought I'd come as well," she informs us.

"And how did you get the password?"

"Thelxiepeia?" she giggles. "Oh, Tom, you should be clever enough to figure that out. I was secretly following Olive and that's how I heard the password."

I nod languidly, and Harper's enthusiasm is also quite contained.

"And what are you two doing here?" she asks. "You're hardly both here accidentally, are you? The others in the Ravenclaw common room will find that fascinating ..."

"Yes, I'm sure they would," I reply quickly, "but possibly the other prefects who also use the so-called Prefects' Bathroom would find it somewhat interesting that you know their password."

"But then they would change it!"

"Correct, Myrtle," I confirm to her, "so what will it be? Gossip or an occasional bath?"

She pouts. "The bath, of course ..."

"I thought so," I say. "Now with that, I just need you to do one more thing so I can forget you know the password."

Promptly, she looks at me.

I shrug my shoulders. "This," I say, pointing to Harper, me, and the bathroom behind us, "this was intended to be for two."

"Oh, I see," she laughs, "all right, but then you won't say a word to anyone, will you?"

"Deal," Harper quickly confirms. "Glad we could come to an agreement. And Myrtle?"

She turns around again. "Yes?"

"No gossip, remember."

"It's not like I'm Olive ..."

"I know you're not," she calls after her. "See you later in the common room!"

As the heavy wooden door of the bathroom slams shut, it's just the two of us again. And Harper looks up at me mischievously.

"I see you like to negotiate."

"It's like chess, only not necessarily with Myrtle." I put my arms around her shoulders, pull her against me, and smile thoughtfully. "With you it is, though."

"There," she says under her breath, "again you're looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Well, a bit ... lost?"

I nod slowly. "Because you help me find. It's a little irritating to me."

"I know ..."

"Ravenclaw always knows everything, huh?"

"Oh, sure," she confirms, amused, "that's why we're such an exclusively congenial house."

"Shouldn't you then rather find raven company of your own?"

"Don't worry. Us ravens, we have a weakness for snakes now and then."

I laugh to myself. "Rowena and Salazar? Green and blue?"

"Yeah, now and then I like a good balancing act."

I nod. "Then you better try not to fall while you're at it."

"Ravens have wings ..."

She is almost hypnotizing me with her dark eyes. But am not I supposed to be the snake? She is standing on her tiptoes, kisses me unexpectedly softly. Her lips on mine like velvet - until they tighten into a smile.

She pushes me away from her gently, but quite suddenly, then she points to the bath. "Are you taking care of the water? But you'll have to look away when I'm ready ..."

I nod. "Because it's you."

Soon the bath is more foam than water, and as Harper's footsteps approach, she motions for me to turn around. And I initially do so. However, I do not after she puts down her towel and I know full well that the only option for her now is to flee forward - into the water, that is.

"Tom!" she laughs indignantly as I shrug.

"I thought you to be faster."

"I don't believe a word!" she exclaims. Yet her rebuke does not turn out to be too lasting as she swims over to me and asks, "Do you at least like my blue bathing suit?"

"I like you. I like your intellect ..."

A glow flits across her face before she kisses me intimately again.

"Much better than the cold outside these walls," she finally says, staying right in my arm. "Shall we read now?"

_I wait. So many years …_

"What?"

"The letter," Harper says, "shall we read the letter now?"

_Come to me!_

"Do you hear that?"

Perplexed, she looks around. "What do you mean? Do you hear someone coming?"

_I'm waiting for you!_

Am I going insane? I have not heard that hissing voice ever since that night in the library, and I have already conjured up the thought of it not being real. But I have never heard it clearer, or louder than right here, right now.

"Tom?" Harper cups my face with her hands. "Have you've seen a ghost?"

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment.

" _Why are you waiting?_ ", I ask - presumably into the universe - dully staring out the colorful windows.

All at once, the glass mermaid adorning them stares at me, just as Harper does.

"What did you just say?" she asks.

_We all have our duties!_

The hiss sounds like it is going away. So hastily I ask, " _What duty? Who are you?_ "

_Come to me! I'm waiting for you!_

"Tom?" Harper looks at me with wide eyes, and the mermaid in the window anxiously hides behind her hair. "Tom, what kind of language is that? And who are you talking to?"

"No one," I quickly say, shaking my head as though that would wake me up. "I don't know that I've spoken any other language ..."

"But you have," she confirms. "I just don't know what it is. Something like a ... whisper." She looks up at the mermaid. "You've heard it, too, haven't you?"

The mermaid pushes her hair aside again and nods shyly.

"Did you hear the other voice, too?", I ask her even though Harper is now truly puzzled.

"What voice?" she wants to know, and the mermaid does not seem to have a clue what I am talking about either.

"Forget about it - there was nothing there."

"Tom, what is it?"

"Nothing." A flippant lie. "Let's just read your letter."

"That was disturbing, Riddle ..."

I smile. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"I like disturbing, in case that slipped your mind."

"All right, then. There was a voice. Satisfied?"

"No - what kind of voice?" she asks me in a wild mix of excitement and fear. "What did it say?"

"It was very clear," I open to her somberly. "Do you really want to know its words?"

"Tell me!"

"She insists that we get it over with and finally read your letter with the superfluous stamp."

"It does surely not want that!" she groans, laughing. "Why listen to ominous voices when all they do is repeat my words?"

"If it makes you feel better, I'd rather hear yours alone." I wink and urge, "But either you read your letter right now, or I have no further interest in it whatsoever."

"All right, all right," she sighs, reaching behind her under her towel. She pulls out the letter and unfolds it.

"My dear Harper, I hope this letter actually arrives," she reads aloud, laughing softly. "They just don't trust owls ..."

But I am already skimming the rest of the lines, written so warmly and lovingly that their purpose is all the more repugnant to me, and I instantly shake my head.

"No," I say. "I'm not coming."

"Tom, I wanted you to see my parents' invitation with your own eyes -"

"I did, but it doesn't change anything." I swim to the other end of the pool under the stained-glass window light and spread my arms on the edge of the pool. "There's no way I'm spending the holidays with you."

"Why not?" she asks indignantly, with a lot of disappointment. "I knew this would stir up a discussion ..."

"Me too," I say, smiling bitterly. "All good things come in three ..."

"Yes, exactly!" she retorts. "The year before last, I asked you for the first time - and you said no because you claimed you had to sort something out at the orphanage -"

"I did."

"Like what?"

I hesitate, then I do not even see the point of coming up with an excuse. "Fine, yes! I was lying. I didn't have to clarify anything at all."

"There you go," she says, looking almost grateful that at least I am not crudely making up stories. "Then last year you claimed you desperately needed to study over the holidays and couldn't possibly be distracted."

"Well, my academic performance speaks for itself, so that was time well spent."

"Oh, please - as if you'd bothered yourself with schoolwork! Your achievement would speak for itself even if you never read another book because your head is already full of complicated magic!"

"Is that a compliment?"

"You really do talk yourself into everything." She sighs. "What's your excuse this year?"

"I'm studying again."

She bites her lips and takes a deep breath avoiding my gaze. Then, however, she simply swims toward me. "Why don't you just say it, hm? I know you're not an impertinent Gryffindor, but putting it into eloquent words won't do either of us any good." Defiantly, she looks up. "So tell me to my face that you just don't want to meet my No-Maj family."

She looks so proud and hurt at the same time that, for a brief moment, I cannot find words. It does not happen often, but she catches me cold.

Not because she is right.  
But because she assumes she is.

"Harper," I groan, shaking my head, "you're jumping to wrong conclusions."

"Then what am I supposed to think?"

"It has nothing to do with your parents, I ... damn, don't you understand how strange that would be?" I swim along with her, to the middle of the bath, looking at her for quite a while. "I've never celebrated Christmas before. What would someone like me know about the celebration of love?"

"You talk as though you don't even know what it is."

"Love?"

She nods.

"How could I?" I shrug impatiently. "I was raised by women who were afraid of me."

"Well, now you have me," she says with a smirk. "And I'm certainly not afraid of you, not even with the voices you hear."

"Awfully foolish ..."

"No, it's simple, Tom. Love is the only thing in this world that won't become less even though it's shared. And I have love to give because I've been getting it all my life."

"Obviously ..." I point in the direction where she left the letter at the edge of the bath. "You have a family excited to tell you how much they're looking forward to seeing you, and that's nice for you, but I have no place there."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd almost be tempted to assume you can't read."

I look at her dully.

"It doesn't say they're looking forward to seeing me. They wrote that they're looking forward to seeing us."

"Your parents don't know me."

"That's what they want to change!" She hesitates, then she is completely honest. "Since the very first letter I've ever mentioned you in, they've been asking about you. Before all the holidays! And especially around Christmas."

"But only out of some misguided pity cult after you wrote them that I had no family!"

"I never did! They know nothing of your past. Only of our present."

"You can claim a lot without Veritaserum -"

She immediately raises her index finger. "Don't you call me a liar! And don't be so bloody rude for the third year in a row, Riddle!"

"Why? All of this ... hell!"

"Because we're friends!"

I could hardly be any more confused. "Friends?"

"Well, whatever you wish to call it even if we both know fully well that'll you want to marry me someday."

"You sound pretty sure of that."

"Well, you're ever so confident, so I myself see no point in false humility. And don't say No a third time. Spend Christmas with me and, for all I care, be annoyed to death in Chesterfield - but don't just talk your way out of it again!"

"That's coercion," I growl.

"The fact you claim that only demonstrates how much you tend to prevarication. But at least now we've settled that you'll be celebrating with my family."

I groan from the depths of my soul. "Must you always have the last word?"

"How did you put it the other day?" she asks, smiling softly. "Must is such a stretchy term ..."


	8. Accents

"Remember, Tom - no magic outside of Hogwarts," Harper repeats Dumbledore's words with an amused look on her face. "Did he believe you to let our luggage float to the train track without that order?"

"It seems so," I sigh, walking after her through the cramped train with one suitcase on each hand. "You're the one he praised for your singing voice, though - instead of accusing you of bad intentions through the flowers."

"You sound slightly offended," she laughs. "So let me distract you with questions. Did you like our choice of song as much as Dumbledore?"

"Carol of the Bells?" I shrug as I also take the train steps onto the platform after her, heaving our luggage along. "It's at least as much of a task to not find that poignant as carrying your suitcase feels right now."

"Are you implying I took too much with me?"

"Apparently I was too polite in my wording - I certainly didn't intend to only imply it."

She smiles mischievously, not at all willing to respond, then she looks around the train station excitedly, rubbing her hands together.

"Welcome to Derby! Even if we're just passing through ..."

By day, our journey took us through the snow-covered highlands of Scotland to the East Midlands, which are no less white, though also considerably foggier.  
By now it is long since dark, and the yellow lights of the nearly deserted central station do not illuminate its walls half as festively as one might think.

"I can see it in your face," Harper chuckles, "you think it's dreary. But at least someone took pains with the fir branches above the big clock up there ..."

"It still looks like a place where Dementors in particular would feel at home."

"That bad?" She shakes her head, playfully concerned. "Could you at least defend us by now? Theoretically, I mean, if you were allowed to do magic?"

"I really hate to deprive you of the satisfaction of being ahead of me, but the answer is yes. Last week I was able to conjure up a Patronus."

Her look is quite dumbfounded. "What, really?" Grinning, she follows up, "You used a memory on us, didn't you?"

"Pure speculation," I retort, making no bones about it, even if she hit the mark.

"And what's your Patronus, Riddle?"

"You've already used up all your questions for the day," I tease her, yawning involuntarily. "Now it's my turn. How much longer will it take us to get to Brimington?"

"About an hour," Harper says. "Depending on how fast my dad drives today."

"Your mother's driving - Merry Christmas, poppet," we suddenly hear a friendly voice with a distinctive American accent not far from us. We turn around, and Harper immediately drops everything to embrace her parents.

I smile wanly as I watch this scene unfold. Train stations are most peculiar. Farewells and Hellos, in exuberantly displayed feelings or coldness, in each and every person's glance a story of its own - unless you disappear undetected in the midst of the hustle and bustle. I have always chosen exactly that. Because there has never been anyone to greet. No one to say goodbye to ...

"And you must be our guest! Merry Christmas!"

Harper's father strides toward me, a tall, burly man - with an even burlier handshake.

"Thank you," I say a bit awkwardly, "for you too, sir."

"The infamous Tom Riddle, then?"

"I'vealready made a name for myself?"

He laughs in amusement. "In our family for sure! Nice to meet you, that's -" In surprise, he realizes that his wife is not yet standing next to him. "Polly? Polly! Let your daughter breathe, you're almost smothering her!"

"I missed her!" Her accent, too, is unmistakably overseas. Euphoric, she takes Harper's hand and both rush toward me. "Excuse me, Tom, I'm Polly - I'm so happy you accompanied Harper to celebrate Christmas with us!"

I want to shake her hand, too, but she pulls me into her arms and squeezes me at once. So tightly, that I think I understand.

Harper is the way she is because she was made to be like it.

But what does that mean for me in reverse?

"Are you tired from the train ride?" Polly asks as soon as she lets go of me again. Cheerfully, and before I can even answer, she adds with a wave, "Train rides always make me a little nervous, even if the view is nice."

"Nervous, Ma'am?"

"Yes," she confirms, "I prefer to drive myself, you know." She winks and says to her husband, "William, come take your daughter's suitcase from the poor lad - knowing her, she carries all kinds of stuff along."

She grins at Harper, hooks up with her and runs ahead of William and me. "Off to Brimington!"

* * *

"What are you up to?"

Caught off guard, William looks at his Polly. "I was going to get in here?"

"You'd like that," she says, shooing him away. "Get in the back, I want Tom next to me!"

I look up from the trunk in surprise.

"You heard her," Harper says, nodding. "Go on, get in the front!"

Before I can even comply with this request, she climbs into the back seat herself - and gets a little startled at first.

"Great-uncle Edwin?" she calls out. "Am I seeing ghosts, or did you really travel all the way from the States to England?"

"Hello, little witch," we hear his sonorous voice. He stows his walking stick elsewhere as William also takes a seat next to him in the back. "Well, surprised?"

"Yes, certainly!" Enthusiastically, she hugs him. "Why did you remain seated here all by yourself?"

"My apologies," he replies, once again leisurely pointing to the walking stick, "I got a little lazy. You kids don't understand that yet, fortunately."

Polly nods merrily at me over the car's roof, so we both finally get in the front as well, then I extend my hand to Harper's great-uncle in the back seat.

"Tom, Sir."

"Pleased to meet you, Tom, I'm Edwin," he says, returning my handshake as he leans forward.

When Polly starts the rattling engine and we're already leaving the station's parking lot behind, Edwin asks, "Do you also wear green ties at Hogwarts, young man?"

I see his wry smile in the rearview mirror, and William follows right up with interest, "Edwin, Tom, help me - green was the house color of ... Slytherin?"

"That's right," Edwin confirms. He asks me directly, "Are you one?"

"I am, Sir."

"Very interesting," he says. "And yet here you are with our little raven. An inter-house friendship, so to speak?"

"So to speak," Harper repeats mischievously.

"Well, Tom," Edwin begins no less blithely, "Harper's told you that Polly and Bill are No-Majs, hasn't she? Just to avoid that you can't show your face in your pureblood common room after the vacations ..."

"Oh, the blood-purity thing?" Polly asks, genuine concern lacing her every word. "Is that why you didn't want to visit until today?"

"Not at all, Ma'am," I say, "I'd simply never believed Harper until now that you actually invited me. That shows great hospitality - so thank you."

"You're welcome! So it's not because we're ... what do they say here in England? Muggles? That we're Muggles?"

"Not at all," I assure her, "Harper is the best example of how talent cannot be depending on blood."

"How beautifully you said that," Harper chuckles. "So, great-uncle Edwin, do you want to interrogate Tom any longer now, or may I inquire about dear Yorick?"

"You wish to talk about your good-for-nothing cousin?" Edwin laughs. "Tom, I warn you, unlike Harper's charming parents, he is an altogether narrow-minded fellow. A wizard, but quite a stupid one. You'll hardly get along."

Harper 's jaw drops. "He's in England, too?"

"Yes, yes, like your great-grandmother Tilda," Polly replies moderately enthusiastically. "They're both already waiting for us in Brimington, and Yorick as soon as we left he announced that he wishes us to hurry up as he wants to eat soon." Polly laughs in resignation. "His presence is not that pleasant, but Edwin brought him along anyway."

"That almost sounds like it's my fault," he whines. "Polly, rest assured that the family practically forced me to bring him along. After all, he takes care of Tilda ... Harper, how good are you at memory charms?"

"Mine's not particularly good, but you can count on Tom," Harper reveals. "Except Tilda won't need a memory charm, will she?"

"I don't know," Edwin sighs, "she has lucid moments, but now and then she'd certainly slip up."

"No wonder she's so confused," Polly chides. "If you keep taking the poor thing's memory away ..."

Edwin snorts, then laughs. "You know - trust is good, control is better. Tom, will you do me the favor after the holidays?"

"Sir, the Lady of the house doesn't seem to think much of it ..."

Polly laughs and shakes her head. "Do what you have to do, Tom. It's all on Edwin's account."

"But have you forgotten Dumbledore's words again?" Harper asks with a grin.

"Albus Dumbledore," Edwin says appreciatively, "a great asset to Hogwarts ..."

"Yes, and he strictly forbade us to do any magic outside the school right before we arrived," Harper explains.

"Indeed he did," I confirm, "but as long as your great-uncle is present, the Ministry can't prove to whom practiced magic is attributable."

"All respect, Harper," Edwin laughs in amusement, "I like your Slytherin! Cunning and attentive with every beat of his wings - he would certainly also make an excellent Thunderbird."

"One of the four houses of Ilvermorny?" Harper asks.

"Oh yes," Edwin confirms.

"That's my Patronus, by the way." Almost mischievously, I turn to Harper. "A thunderbird ..."

"I'd love to see it some day," she beams.

Edwin, for his part, begins to reminisce. "I really enjoyed my youth there. What's Hogwarts like these days?"

"Strict," she replies. "I'm still not allowed to wear pants, can you imagine, great-uncle?"

"Sure," he hastily says, "women in pants are very scary. No telling what they might do with a wand and pants!"

I hear Harper chuckle and Edwin cannot help but laugh either.

The roads - we follow them at a considerable pace due to Polly's driving style - are only sparsely lit, but this part of England impresses effortlessly even with little light. Now and then, however, our path takes us past burned-out ruins, orphaned piles of stone, and other silent witnesses to time.

"The Blitz?" I ask Polly.

She gulps and nods. "Barely two years ago, yes. It was terrible. That December is still felt in people's bones, and right now, around Christmas, the memories are especially vivid."

"Some families we know lost everything," William also says, sighing. "Mankind is man's greatest curse, I've never understood wars."

"You can't comprehend them, Bill," Edwin says. "Only lament them. We are capable of corrupting everything. Einstein wanted to explore infinite energy for the positive, but he never intended that the result might be infinite destructiveness."

"What are you talking about?" Harper asks.

"Nothing at all, dear, I've said too much already," he replies. "All we can do is hope things work out for the best."

"Why don't we just make them good with magic?" she asks, even as her tone already suggests she is aware of the hopeless idealism of those words.

"Magic requires a sense of responsibility," Edwin says, "I've regrettably never had enough of it."

"Knowing that seems to point to the opposite," she retorts.

I cannot help but watch her warm smile in the rearview mirror. At least until the Christmas lights of Chesterfield, just before our actual destination, Brimington, nearly blind us.

"We'll be home in a minute," Polly triumphs. "Are you as hungry as Cousin Yorick?"

"I think so," Edwin confirms, Harper and I also nod.

"We still have plenty of venison - William's a hunter. Otherwise, my dears, grab your wands right now. With two special kids in the house, I'm sure even peeling potatoes will be fun."

"I don't know a spell for that, though," Harper confesses. "Do you, Tom?"

"I'll have to pass, too."

"So much for Hogwarts," Edwin laughs. "Don't worry, I'll teach you some life lessons, young folks."


	9. Nil Admirari

Silence. It would probably be uncomfortable silence, had I any sense for that left after all those years in the orphanage.

I am sitting at the still-empty dining room table and Yorick, maybe in his mid-twenties, is on two opposite sofas with Great-Grandma Tilda, while Polly and Harper are in the kitchen and William is still tending to the garage with Edwin.

No one wanted my help.  
I was told to just sit down.  
But given my current company, I would rather have peeled an entire potato field or swept the backyard with a toothbrush than stare at the Christmas tree next to the table with Yorick in thoughtful silence.

The Sullivans' house is on the Westwood's edge. It is not particularly small, nor particularly large, neither modern nor worn. Just very normal. And there is something in me that is genuinely and incomprehensibly happy about it.

"Is there anything I can do for you?", I soon ask Yorick - who much too obviously stares at me.

I could continue to read his mind, but he hardly has one. At least he thinks about nothing of any importance.  
It is like a tiring continuous loop of hunger resentment and annoyance that Harper apparently takes a liking to me - but not to him.

"Everything's fine," he soon replies somberly. "Are you serious about her?"

"Come again?" I ask and groan inwardly, glancing somewhat indecisively at Great-Grandma Tilda.

"Are you serious about Harper?" he repeats, then he seems to catch up. "Oh, I see - you wish to act like a saint in front of the family, huh?" Yorick waves it off. "Tilda doesn't remember a word, though, we can talk openly. So?"

"Whatever's on your mind," I finally say wanly, "don't worry about it."

"I'm sure he's taking good care of her," Tilda - mentally very much present - adds, smiling warmly at me. "A handsome young man Harper has brought home, don't you think, Yorick?"

He sighs sullenly, then he looks at me again. "How did you two meet, anyway? At your oh-so-elite school, of course ... But how do I have to picture that?"

"Not at all." Skeptically, he looks at me, so I explain, "You don't have to picture it at all."

Disgruntled, he crosses his arms over his chest. "But if I want to?"

"We were fighting over a salt shaker."

He looks at me in surprise, then he proceeds to stare bitterly out the living room window. "You're pulling my leg ..."

"I wouldn't bother," I assure him.

"What, you fight over trifles and then, years later, you celebrate Christmas together?"

"It seems so, yes."

"Mh." He finally nods. "Strange way to get to know each other."

"Many roads lead to Rome," Tilda retorts, thoroughly making me smile.

"You Brits are funny if you ask me," Yorick grumbles.

"I don't recall asking, but excuse me," I say, already getting up, "I'll head to the kitchen."

"The kitchen?" Yorick laughs stupidly and puts his feet up on the sofa table. "That's like a frontier for me - only women belong there, in my opinion ..."

"Well, you see ..." I smile mirthlessly. "I don't think much of boundaries."

I close the door of the large living room behind me with Tilda's quiet laughter in my back. And just as I am about to give vent to all my pent-up annoyance at this moron with a moan, I run into Harper's arms.

"Did you guys have a nice chat?"

"Could you imagine?", I retort. "Your cousin thinks me to be sinister."

She grins at me. "How can you say that with such certainty?"

"My senses are practically those of an Übermensch."

"I get it, Nietzsche." She smirks. "You've been practicing Legilimency for a time now, haven't you?"

"I've always been good at reading minds. But that gives it structure, yes."

"How often did you read me?"

"A bit at first," I admit. "But I have to say it got progressively harder with time."

"Had a feeling about you ..."

"A feeling?"

"I felt caught quite frequently." She shrugs. "But I took care of it - seems like I knew how to help myself."

"Occlumency? Even as a third year?"

She just winks, then says, "Dinner's almost ready, will you call for my Dad and Edwin? We'll bring our luggage up later. I'm hoping you'll just be allowed to sleep in my room, but -"

"No way, Harper," I whisper, "Even after talking to your cousin I don't have an overly urgent death wish."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your father's a hunter."

She giggles. "Are you afraid of the shotguns on the walls? What do you have a wand for?"

I give a dismissive wave of my hand and move on to gather the family around the table, and by the time everyone is coming together, Christmas Eve can begin.

"That smells wonderful, Polly," Edwin enthuses as he takes a seat at the end table across from William, groaning likely due to the pain each step must cause him.

Harper is sitting in the midst of Yorick and myself, Polly takes a seat with Tilda across from us.

"Don't burn your tongues," Harper warns us, "the sauce is really hot."

"Let's wait a bit, I wanted to say a few words anyway," William announces with a smirk. "No, no, no speech, don't look at me all expectant. I just want to welcome Tom into our family - Tom, it's good to have you here. Harper really likes you." She smiles caught at these words before William continues. "And it's like this - friends of Harper's are friends of the family. So please make yourself at home, my boy."

This is strangely ... kind. So unexpectedly warm and sincere.

"Thank you, Sir, I ... appreciate that."

William nods merrily, then he says, "And of course, it's also a great pleasure to have a piece of America here for the holidays. Grandma Tilda, Edwin ..." He hesitates and forces himself to smile, "Yorick ... We're glad you're here. It may be a chaotic table, with people of completely different talents and backgrounds, and yet ... Christmas Eve unites us this year. Let us hope for better times and the avoidance of war, and let us be confident in the future. Merry Christmas!"

These wishes are being repeated by all, then Polly mumbles, "A beautiful speech, dear."

"It wasn't really a speech," William protests again.

She smiles as mischievously as Harper. "Whatever you say ... Now enjoy! Will you give me your plates?"

Polly is about to get up, but Edwin and Yorick have long since drawn their wands to pass the food.

"I love magic," Harper gushes as a full plate flies to her side. "This looks fantastic, Mom."

Polly rubs her hands together as she, too, has her food in front of her. "I hope it tastes that way, too."

It does, so much so that for a while, aside from the soft crackle of the fireplace and the candles scattered around the room, all that can be heard is cutlery and contented sighs. At least until those present finally begin to talk about the last weeks and months.

I listen quietly and wonder if this is what everyone calls family. Mutual interest in trifles. Pleasure in little things that aren't even directly related to oneself. I wonder if that is what they call love.

At least until I hear voices again.

_I can smell your blood!_

Perplexed, I look up, but no one at the table speaks.

_You've never been here before ..._

It is similar to Hogwarts. A voice from nowhere that no one can hear but me.  
Unconcerned, as if nothing had happened, the others continue their thoughts, while I have to ask myself time and again what may be imagination, and what reality.

_Who are you?_

No, it is not similar, it is exactly like in Hogwarts.  
Only here, this voice sounds like it is coming from a smaller body. Much smaller.

I gulp, seriously doubting my sanity.

"What did you actually name your owl now?" Edwin leans toward Harper, still trying his hardest not to chat with Yorick.

"Jeannie," Harper replies. "Like Jean Harlow."

"That obscene actress?"

"Your great uncle is an old man," William jokes, "don't scare him like that!"

"I liked that lady," Tilda opens up. "So pretty and daring!"

"Speaking of youth," Polly begins, looking at us first, then at her husband. "Darling, did you get the attic ready?"

"Of course, for Tom," he replies, winking at me. "You better do what the Sullivan women say."

"He gets the attic?" Yorick asks immediately. "What about me?"

"You get the garage ," Edwin informs him with the utmost satisfaction.

"Well, thanks a lot." Yorick rolls his eyes and pouts, and given the idea of spending the night in a cold garage, I truly cannot blame him.

_Everyone gets what they deserve ..._

Again I look around, perplexed, but no one speaks.

Indecisively, Polly pauses. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, sure," I quickly say, "everything's fine, I just thought I ..."

"Yeah?" Yorick stares at me, hungry for sensation.

"I've never tasted more delicious venison."

"The meat is excellent, isn't it?" William grins immediately.

"Yes, Sir, indeed." I smile vaguely, then I ask, "And speaking of Jeannie and venison - are there ... any other animals around, possibly? Pets, I mean?"

"Yes!" Harper nods right away.

Strange certainty wells up inside me.

"Want to guess what it is?" she asks, already putting down her silverware.

I bite my lips, then I'm almost sure. "A snake."

She beams at me in surprise. "How did you know that?"

I swallow and for a moment I am unable to say anything.  
I had fervently hoped to be wrong.

Because now, all indications are that I am not losing my mind. That the voice from the walls actually exists. Even at Hogwarts ...

But it sounds different there.  
Bigger. Significantly bigger ...

If this quiet, weak voice here belongs to a snake, what does the snake look like that speaks to me in a loud, strong voice?

What does the snake look like that keeps following me around Hogwarts, claiming to be waiting for me?

What kind of creature speaks of us having a common duty to fulfill?

_Come to me! I am waiting for you!_

Weren't those her words?

Peculiar fascination and thirst for knowledge inevitably mix with it, but right now, above all, a paralyzing shiver is in my bones ...

* * *

**I hope you like and enjoy the story so far – feel free to let me know your thoughts :)**


	10. Questionable

"Wait, I'll get her," Harper announces, already on the go.

"But for dinner, dear?" her father calls after her, but it is already too late. Barely a few moments later, she returns with a small corn snake wrapped around her arm.

"The little snake," Tilda giggles blissfully.

"How disgusting!" Yorick, however, exclaims, immediately escaping to the sofa.

"Oh, Harper - is that really necessary now?" asks Polly. "Tom's feeling all uncomfortable, see?"

"And what about me?" Yorick asks, clearly offended, while I just take a deep breath and do not take my eyes off the animal.

The sudden realization that Hogwarts must indeed house a huge serpent between its walls does paralyze me for the moment.

_You - I could smell you! You understand me!_

I must not answer.  
What happened in the bathroom at Hogwarts cannot happen here ... Harper told me I spoke another language - a whisper she called it. The whole table will think I am insane if something similar escapes my mouth now ...

"Do you want to take it?" Harper asks.

Everyone is holding their breath, I silently hold out my hand to her.

_Talk to me._

"Tom, I'd like you to meet Viper. Viper, Tom!"

Viper wraps herself around my hand in a flurry until she is determined to stick her head out at me.

_Say something! No one ever talks to me!_

"She seems to like you right off!" laughs Polly. "She's usually rather shy ..."

_Say something! Go on, say something!_

"It's an unusual pet, but we got her from the neighbors at the time," William explains to me. "They were into zoology, and when they moved back to London for a professorship, our daughter had already fallen in love. There wasn't a quiet minute until I agreed to let her keep it."

I always thought it was just on a metaphorical level, but Harper really seems to be fond of snakes ...

I just nod apprehensively at William and offer my other hand to Viper. She immediately wriggles to my right, as tightly and hastily as she can, only to show me her tongue again.

_Say something, say something, say something!_

I hope it is barely noticeable how I shake my head.

_You see? You understand me! Speak!_

"She's either really in love, or very mad at you." Harper smiles, almost intrigued. "She never hisses that much."

_Say something, look at me and say something!_

I concentrate on keeping my mouth shut and give Viper back to Harper, even as she refuses to let go of me.

_Traitor! Say something!_

Harper lovingly forces her friend into her grip, great-uncle Edwin looks at me with odd intent, and I cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief.

"All right, sweetie," Harper hums as she leaves the living room with Viper, "now you've met Tom, too. What do you think of him? He can frown like no other, can't he?"

_Traitor!_

"Did you see that?" Tilda asks in a gossipy mood as she glances around the table, "The little pet really liked him!"

"It seems so," William confirms enthusiastically.

And yet they all misinterpret the signs. On the contrary. The snake would have furiously injected venom if only it had such at its disposal.

When Harper returns, she shouts, "Yorick, come on! You can go back to the table now!"

Cursing, he does as he is told. "I don't like snakes, certainly not near a dinner table, and you know that!"

"We're all done anyway." Harper gives a wave of her hand, already letting his plate and napkin fly across the room. "Or did you want to eat a bit more, dear cousin?"

He just clicks his tongue, but Polly is completely fascinated by the floating dishes.

"Could you let me fly, too?" she asks her daughter as though she was planning a conspiracy. "Just very briefly?"

Edwin grins as Harper places the plate back on the table, clears her throat, and points the wand at her mother.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Polly's laugh lights up the whole room, it is almost like magic.

As his wife, along with her chair, gently gets back down on the carpet again, William turns to Yorick and me asking, "Come on, boys, it's your turn! What's up your sleeves for us?"

Yorick pulls out his wand and points it at the small collection of spirits on the chest of drawers.

"Accio Whiskey!" he says, promptly holding the bottle in his hand. "Accio glass!" he then continues, filling up the same with some liquor. "Tadaa! Conjured ..."

"Well, bravo," William sighs, "that was very intriguing. I wouldn't for the life of me know how to do that without a wand ..."

"After all, it's more impressive if you don't have to get up to do it," Yorick defends himself, sipping smugly from his glass.

"See?" Edwin nods. "That's exactly why you sleep in the garage ..." He turns to me and smirks. "Tom, our hopes of being entertained with a little more finesse now inevitably rest on you ..."

"On me, Sir? That's not a very good idea."

"It's a perfectly excellent idea," Harper immediately claims. "Devote yourself to the art of magic! It's just us ..."

"Yes, and it's Christmas, after all," Polly points out. She looks at me so euphorically that there is basically nothing I can do.

"All right." I take heart and smile wanly at the crowd. "Let me mobilize the last spark of creativity in me, then."

"Do you need your wand?" Harper asks.

"No," I reply. Already focused, I follow up, "Not for this ..."

Remaining seated, I let my hand slide past the living room windows, drawing curtain after curtain.

Everyone watches me intently as I then raise my hand a little to the room's main source of light - the ceiling lamp - and let it flicker with a slow twisting motion of my hand until it darkens completely.

Now only the fireplace and the many candles in the room provide light. I take care of the latter first.

"Is anyone here sensitive to wind?" I ask abruptly and grin when an enthusiastic Polly wraps her scarf a little tighter around her neck without any further questions.

"What are you up to?" Harper asks quietly.

"Sowing wind," I reply before letting a deep breath escape my lungs in a controlled manner.

Watched by wide eyes, a storm is brewing in the living room, with gusts just strong enough to extinguish the candles with playful momentum.

The fireplace continues to blaze unconcerned after wind from all sides, but I have other plans for that.

I look into the flames, take a short but jerky breath so there suddenly is nothing left of the last light in the room.

"Did he eat the fire?" William whispers in awe, but before anyone can answer, I carefully breathe flames back into my hand until an initially greenish blazing fireball forms in it. With everyone's eyes on me, I clench a fist for a moment, then, as I extend my fingers flat again, small, round sparks begin to float hypnotically to the candles, igniting them once more.

I hate feats. But somehow everyone gets so excited about it that it is quite amusing for once.

I send the fireball in my hand floating back to the fireplace with one certain movement, and there it once again multiplies into blazing flames, turning from green darkness into reddish light.

The spectacle is already applauded, but I am yet to look up to the ceiling light until it flickers again, and finally, it illuminates the room once more.  
With a last motion of my hand, I also open the curtains, then I tilt my head as if to indicate a small bow.

"That was fantastic, Tom!" Polly says, obviously quite moved. "Absolutely fantastic!"

Harper smirks while William showers me with enthusiastic praise, Tilda, for her part, seems utterly enraptured, perhaps a little bemused, and Yorick can only roll his eyes in annoyance. That, of course, pleases me the most.

"How long have you been practicing that?" he soon asks, however he tries his best to seem very bored. "Harper," he sighs, giving it up with me surprisingly quickly, "tell me - he's hardly going to answer me himself."

"My dear cousin," she replies sweetly, "I must disappoint you, I merely see Tom practicing complicated magic, there'sj simply no need for such a thing."

I want to push any vanity from me, but at these words the corners of my mouth probably twitch anyway.

"I can tell you, though, that he's always immersed in books," she continues. "Pleasure in education is what you may call it ..."

"You speak from experience there, too," I add, leaning back a bit.

Harper is the only person on earth with whom I can sit silently for hours only to study.

Elliott was never much of a bookworm - for years he tried to inform me about the school's latest gossip whenever I planned to read in the common room. He was completely immune to the fact that I could not have been more irritated, and even my curt requests for him to finally shut up would hardly bear fruit. Now and then, curses lay dangerously close to my lips from all the inane talk, but I could not raise my wand against Elliott ... The result, however, was consequently my complete retreat into the library's solitude. But I'm no longer alone.  
Harper and I soon discovered that we were very similar in our scholastic ambition and practical inquisitiveness. As if casually and supposedly unintentionally, we soon found ourselves reaching for the same books, or ink or parchment at the same time, equally undecided as to what the flashes of those fleeting touches might mean.  
By now we know a lot about magic, and also what that meant ...

"Well, Yorick, as they say," William is only too happy to remind him. "Reading puts you at an advantage."

"Witch," Yorick mumbles to Harper, rolling his eyes.

She winks. "You don't say..."

Edwin, on the other hand, is still shaking his head ever so slightly. Until he finally breaks his silence and murmurs, "I can't believe it ... Without a wand, at your age. Tom, that's extremely impressive ..." His gaze rests with unmistakable interest on me. "I'm curious - tell us about yourself, my boy. Where are you from? Who are you?"

This question is as terse and sweeping as it is unanswerable.

"Edwin," Harper wants to intervene directly, but that would only fuel the fire.

"I grew up in London, Sir."

"In London?" William asks. "Yes, but of course, now your posh accent makes sense!"

Harper laughs softly. "You of all people talk about accents?"

"Just an observation." William turns to me. "Tom doesn't mind that, does he?"

"No, Sir, not at all."

"And your parents?" Yorick asks brashly. "What blood runs through your veins, prodigy?"

Harper worries a bit looking at me, but I simply reply, "What would you guess?"

"Pure blood, what else? From a filthy rich, long-established family."

"Interesting speculation." I nod wanly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe not."

Yorick grimaces. "Can't you just say yes or no?"

"No, actually, I cannot," I clarify. "Believe it or not - I don't know myself."

"You don't know, young man?" even Tilda asks now, raising a brow. "How can you not know?"

I smile wearily. "Ma'am, I was born in an orphanage."

For a moment, everybody holds their breath. I look into embarrassed faces, as I do time and time again when I answer questions like that honestly.

"You were born there?" Yorick asks on. "What happened to your mother?"

"She died. The same night."

"Oh, Tom ... Harper's never mentioned that," Polly says quietly. "I'm so very sorry to hear that."

And she means it. Not from above, not out of a sense of duty - simply because she truly is sorry. As gray as my soul is, I suppose hers is white ...

"And your father?" William asks thoughtfully.

"I don't know anything about him."

"That must be hard for you," he replies.

"No." My expression blank, my impassive face the mirror of my thoughts. "Honestly, no. I didn't know either of them."

"Polly grew up without a father, too," William tells me. "Right, Polly?"

She nods to her husband. "Some questions just go unanswered."

"It's a shame," Tilda agrees.

"I don't miss what I don't know."

I'm looked at confoundedly.

Yorick, however, does not even contemplate hiding his hunger for sensation and immediately leans towards me. "But don't you care who they were?"

"No," I plainly answer, "not in the least."

"But how is that possible?" he mumbles. "You're just telling yourself that, aren't you? Everyone wants to know more about their origins!"

"Yorick," Polly growls, "pull yourself together or you'll be sent straight to the garage!"

"He can answer for himself, can't he?" he fusses, looking at me again. "Why don't you want to know more about them? Are you scared?"

"Scared?" My eyebrows raise at once. "Feel free to correct me, but I doubt this is the precise word that could be applied to describe me."

"Then what keeps you from finding out more?"

"It doesn't get me anywhere to know where I come from," I say and feel how my annoyance already blossoms into anger.

I appear reasonably calm, but the light on the ceiling is already flickering treacherously in the light of this foolish questioning. I take a quick breath before I force myself to concentrate so the light stays on.

Yorick nevertheless stares at me suspiciously while the others around the table seem to be concerned at least.

"Because it doesn't get you anywhere ..." Edwin repeats thoughtfully. "You speak the ambition of a true Slytherin. A commendable attitude, Tom."

"For better or worse, Sir."

Silence becomes loud, and I look around the room to say, "It was by no means my intention to -"

"You didn't," Harper immediately cuts me off with a smile. "We're shaped by the people we care about. That's all that matters."

"Very philosophical," Edwin chuckles.

Still, the love and warmth in this room is clearly getting to me.

I want cold. I want darkness.  
That is where I belong, not in this ideal setting of a world ...

"If you'd excuse me," I say dangerously quiet, already crossing the living room.

I need to get out of here.


	11. Light and Dark

Snowflakes try to dance like feathers in the sky this very Christmas Eve, yet the wind keeps swirling them through the darkness without any mercy.

The cold embraces me like the family I never had. The night is my day, and for my sake, the orange streetlights might just as well quit their duties. What difference does a single ray of light make in the end when the black swallows the world?

I close my eyes and breathe in icy air until my lungs refuse to stretch any further.

What was Harper thinking, dragging me into her perfect world? This bubble here in the middle of nowhere, in Brimington, is in the end nothing but a grotesque dream that bursts somewhere between wishes and realities.

If you have a lot, you can lose a lot.  
Why would anyone voluntarily entangle themselves in this social construct? Life certainly did not teach me how to be alone from birth only for me to exit solitude now.

I am feverishly thinking of the most polite way to announce that I am leaving, just as the front door is pulled open behind me.

"After all that family time, I really need a cigarette." Edwin strolls leisurely toward me on his walking stick, and although I would prefer to be in complete silence in the front yard right now, he of all is the company I cannot mind.

"Do you smoke, Tom?" He's already flipping open his polished case and holding it out to me.

"No, Sir, thank you ..."

"Never mind, it saves money," he then winks and stows the silver case back in the inside pocket of his tweed suit. "Tom, you'll have to forgive me for following you ... Tobacco doesn't taste good without good company."

"You consider me to be good company?"

"By far the best tonight, yes," he says, his old eyes still holding that glint of youthful daring charm, handing me a match to light his cigarette. He takes one deep drag, then lets the smoke escape his lungs slowly. "You're an interesting mystery, young Mr Riddle – if I may say so."

"In what way?"

He shrugs and stares out into the night.

"Not many can ever, let alone already at your age, handle magic like that with the power of their will alone. Without a wand."

"Well, it obviously doesn't always work like I intend it to," I allude to the involuntary flicker of lights.

"Either way, you proved the extraordinary in you today."

"That was nothing," I say and shrug. "I could do it when I was a kid."

"See, that's my point." He looks at me as though he is searching for signposts on my face. "That's highly unusual ..."

"Sir?"

"You have a considerable amount of magic surrounding you. How did you learn that you're a wizard?"

"Dumbledore ... He came to London to the orphanage to invite me to Hogwarts. I thought he was a doctor trying to sedate me at first, but after he set my wardrobe ablaze with cold flames, I certainly realized that neither of us was in need of anesthetics - or both of us."

"He likes dramatic introductions, I'll give him that."

"One has to, I guess."

"You're not good friends?"

I do not know why I talk so openly to Edwin. I usually avoid that, but there is something about him that just makes me speak. "He's keeping a close watch on me," I say plainly, looking up.

Edwin balks for a brief moment, then he smiles wryly. "He's suspicious? What reason does he have to mistrust you?"

"You tell me." I hold his gaze. "In the absence of family support, am I predestined from birth to be a threat? Or just supposedly misunderstood?"

"Well, my boy," Edwin sighs, "a little bit of both, I suppose. Society fears independent minds. Unattached individuals who follow their own moral code cannot be reduced to any common norm. And remarkable history can be made depending on the choices they make. I think Dumbledore just wants to make sure you use your talents for good."

"But then again, isn't the prejudging already wrong?"

"A cynic would answer yes to that," Edwin laughs softly, but I am in no mood to laugh. He notices that, too, and simply adds, "An optimist would probably just call it benevolent concern ..."

But that's not good enough for me. "What do you say as a realist?"

I do not want to react so brashly - that usually just makes people wonder. But at the same time I have the impression that Edwin is a free spirit. Someone who does not think in black and white and good and evil, and thus could give new impulses to my tired thoughts ...

He thinks before he speaks - always a good sign, and the reason that my features also relax a little in recognition of this.

Soon, he says gravely, "That you are wronged by this, my boy." He nods to reinforce his statement, but I do not quite trust him yet. "On our car ride I earlier claimed that control is better than trust," Edwin intuitively begins his explanation, "but as it is with sweeping generalizations - that's not always true. Sometimes a spark of trust can create wonderful things. And hint of distrust the exact opposite ..."

I had never consciously thought about this pattern, but basically Edwin speaks from my soul.

Looking into the night, he philosophizes further, "Especially since hardly anything could be harder than growing up in an orphanage without any love. It's a grim and gruel fate."

"Sir, don't pity me -"

"Nothing would be further from my mind, Tom," he affirms. "I'm correcting myself anyway." He eyes me again for a moment, then he smiles. "It's even worse to blame the resulting consequences on said child - and by that, possibly creating a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"You mean ..." I reply, somewhat perplexed in the face of this unexpected wave of understanding, "that one has, in a sense - often without realizing it - the habit of living up to the role ascribed?"

"For better or worse," Edwin replies, nodding. "That's the way it is, Tom. If the world can only see the bad in us, we'll eventually believe it to be right about it." He laughs softly again, pleased now, though. "Your intellectual reflectiveness makes any conversation more stimulating than all I've ever discussed with Yorick."

I shrug my shoulders in capitulation as he follows up, "And Dumbledore - by no means a saint - doesn't know everything either, believe me." The ashes that come off his cigarette here and there are lost in the night, Edwin, however, continues unperturbed. "I'm glad the stars were right and you came here with Harper. She likes you, Tom, I can see that. She trusts you."

"And however kindly that may be meant - it has a suffocating effect at times."

"It entails a certain obligation," he agrees in amusement. "Why do you think marriage is so scary? Commitments are ballast, at least when viewed soberly."

"Then why make any?" I ask, genuinely interested in his answer.

"Mm." He smiles. "Our days gain weight and meaning through death, don't they? And ergo, what would life be without a well-chosen responsibility or two? If nothing has a price, everything is worthless."

I nod slowly.

"I'm sorry Yorick was so rude to you," he abruptly changes the subject and takes another draws on his cigarette. "Tilda thought it too exciting, too. The family always tries to make me think she's out of her mind, but if you ask me, she still likes to shake the dust way too much for that."

"It's fine," I say stoically. "The more I reveal, the more questions I get. I'm used to that."

"But ..." He smirks and bites his lips. "Now I'm starting to ask like that, too, kid, but ... do you really not care about your background at all?"

"No."

He nods. "Well, that's a word. Not everyone could look at it so matter-of-factly, but I'm sure you've got a great future ahead of you - whether you decipher the past or not." He points to the flowerpot behind us. "Be so kind, pass me that." He stubs out his cigarette in it and winks. "Just don't tell Polly I did that."

"I can keep a secret, Sir."

"What's the name of that area in the Hogwarts library that Harper and you are always sneaking around in?"

"The Restricted Section?"

"That, yes." He chuckles. "To be young again, that would be nice ... But instead, I'm limping back to the living room on my cane now. I suppose I should have considered a Horcrux when I had the time."

My heart skips a beat - as if my soul knew at the mere word that I still intend to separate it one day. I do not let it show. But I look up at Edwin and smile wanly. "Doesn't the process irritate you, Sir?"

"Yes, yes." He gives a wave of his hand in amusement. "But actually, you shouldn't know of these things yet, Tom. If I mention black magic like that in front of Harper, will she know about it, too?"

I nod.

"Of course ... I was always curious, too," he reminisces. "I couldn't learn enough, I didn't care about classification. But whether you're doing your soul and mind a favor to be burdened with it ... I could never quite decide that for myself." He pats me on the shoulder and says, "Anyway - thanks for letting me join you."

"Sir, not worth mentioning."

"Oh yes." He smiles. "I mean it. And if you ever need the advice of an old, limping American, let me know."

"I will."

I look after him for a moment, then I find myself facing a dilemma.

Do I go my way? Alone as usual, back into the lethargy of my cold arrogance that helps me best ignore what I lack in life...  
Or do I follow Edwin back into this strange, overwhelming cordiality, which is a matter of course for everyone else, but which innocently seems to strangle my throat?

I stare dully into the flowerpot with the gray ashes.  
Does it not disintegrate into itself because it is merely a silent witness to what it once was?

What is it worth breathing for if I leave now and nothing gives me the feeling of being alive?  
Would I not rather choke on the flood of kindness in the living room with my heart pounding?

"Sir, wait." Edwin turns back to me suspiciously quickly - as though he was only waiting for this to happen. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to say, "I'm coming with you."

He smiles triumphantly, and I can tell. "I'm glad to hear that, Tom. I'm really glad."

As I catch up to him, he quips, "I was afraid I'd have to talk politics with Tilda alone for the rest of the holidays ..."

At this notion, even I can barely stifle a grin.


End file.
